The Name, Clipped

I was just reaching for the stapler,

bending down, hearing my own breath.

Then her voice, thin through the cubicle wall,

a tight knot, a kind of professional death.

'Sarah,' she said, not quite a question,

more a period, a final, sharp stop.

Like a stone skipping once, then gone.

No echo, no rise, no soft, familiar drop.

Just a flat, efficient sound,

a placeholder for an item on a list.

Not mine, not the one I know.

Just the sound of being dismissed.