How quickly she cleaned her knife,
your blood now on the cleaning cloth.
How quickly she prided herself
in forgiving you for overreacting.
What a good friend.

“Liar,” she said, then “drama,” and now
it’s “water under a bridge” apparently.
She doesn’t want to talk about it anymore,
but she forced you to drink that water and
it was dirty and burned on the tongue.
Your throat is still parched.

Too many people say,
“Never say never,” or
“Don’t burn your bridges!”
as though you were the one
who struck the match.
But you watched her carry it
and toss it on that bridge,
and now the air is opaque
and reeks from the rotten wood.
You stand beneath it all, speechless,
and her voice calls out from above,
“You’re fine!”
while the water around you
tastes of ash.

McKenna Wilds is a poet, fiction/creative-nonfiction writer, and feminist. As a self-proclaimed “old soul and modern mind,” she lives wild and free until 9 PM when she’ll be found cozy in bed with a good book and too many blankets. Find her on Instagram at @mckenna.wilds.