fragments of an eclipse
I’m sorry. I know what I said was fucked up
That’s what you said before and the time before that
I’m tired. I’m over it. I need space.
We’re on the same page. Or at least I thought.
Doctor’s office. New location. Same faces.
The date isn’t registering, but I feel it in my bones
How’s your husband?
He’s gone. But co-parenting is great.
Gritted smile. Let’s move on.
Health hasn’t been so good.
They say it’s stress or all in my head, but the scans prove otherwise
Answers. Even if they’re not the ones you want.
Aging. Freezing eggs. Other words that don’t make sense.
Is your address and insurance still the same?
Nothing’s the same.
Drive home. Friendly face. Craving comfort.
Bumper on bumper. Debris. Shaky hands.
Exchange numbers and pleasantries.
How much is this going to cost?
No time for that.
Just another day.
Shrapnel from an eclipse.