What Emotional Costs

Two days and I'm still at the table in my head.

His voice: a bit emotional. The room: unmoved.

I watched my hand like it belonged to the dead—

five fingers flat, pressing down, trying to prove

something I don't have a name for yet.

I've been making myself smaller since twenty-two.

Soft voice in meetings. *No, no, I don't object.

I'll follow up on that. After you.*

And for what. For a bit. For the qualifier

that means too much, sit down, be less,

we'll keep you here but we don't admire

whatever lives in you that makes you press

past the point we said was fine.

I sat with my hands on the table, flat,

the way you press a bruise. I kept what's mine

and said nothing and the meeting moved past that.