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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.

Shaky heart.

Exchange numbers and pleasantries.

How much is this going to cost?

Numb. Overwhelmed.

No time for that.

Just another day.

Shrapnel from an eclipse.


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