The Asking

The fluorescent hum above the stall.

I pulled my hand out and asked

if she had anything—didn't even know her name,

pass in the hallway maybe twice a week.

She slid a small blue box under the door.

No question. No look.

I wrote the size on my palm

so I wouldn't forget,

pen dragging across my skin.

When I got back to my desk

the mark was still there, still dark enough to read.