The Unbroken Surface

Just the cereal. A box of flakes.

And her voice, thin and sharp,

about my choice, about my life,

or some small, imagined lack.

My breath caught, a dry, hot burr

behind the eyes, a sting

that climbed the back of the throat.

The world went soft at the edges,

a shimmer.

I swallowed it.

The air thickened, but I stood still.

My jaw tight. Just the quiet hum

of the fluorescent lights.