Under the Door

The scuffed toe of her black shoe,

under the divider, tapping.

I could hear her breath, catching, then

a low, broken sound.

She was talking into a phone, hushed words

about a sudden empty space.

I wanted to move, to flush the toilet,

to make some noise, but couldn't.

Just her quiet, raw unraveling.

Each intake of air, sharp, like a cut.

My own breathing felt too loud.

Her shoes, unmoving now, just there.