Aftershock

The fight ended an hour ago. He hung up.

The silence was like a physical weight,

but now I’m at the store, picking out peas,

trying to look like a person who is fine.

I saw myself in the glass of the freezer door—

my left eye is jumping. A tiny, frantic pulse,

a little animal trapped under the skin.

It’s like a telegraph I can’t stop sending.

I pressed my finger against it, hard,

until I saw stars. It didn't stop.

The frozen corn is sweating through the bag.

I’m just standing here, twitching—

well, not the whole me. Just the eye.