Seventeen Years Later

Hours passed

Into teacups.

The flecked foam

From our chai

Lapped and ebbed

In oversized cups.

I have not seen my friend

For many years,

A realization

Felt more than thought

At a corner table,

In a press

Of coats and bags.

Intervening years

Stacked like books,

And the glancing thoughts

Of those past times

I had scribbled down

On sheets now crumpled

To slide between

Thick leather tomes.

I retrieved notes

That were not forgotten,

Our chuckles ringing

Over drained cups

Of the too sweet chai.