What To Do With Yes

The coffee was still dripping

when the screen lit up. His name.

The time. The date.

Three days.

Last Tuesday I made the call.

Said it the way you finally say

a thing you've been holding by its edges:

I need to talk. Not the regular version.

Actually talk.

He said: okay. When?

Cleared an evening the way you'd move a glass

to wipe the counter under it.

Flat. Easy. Done.

I stood at the counter

and looked at the notification

and did not reach for the phone.

The coffee finished.

The screen went dark.

I'd asked for something. Gotten it.

Now I had to figure out

what I'd asked for.

That's the part I hadn't thought through —

that yes just relocates the problem.

Hands it back across the room.

Three days.

I have no idea what I'm going to say.

I didn't think I'd get this far.