Certificate of Completion

The progress bar stopped at ninety-seven

and stayed.

Not the way water stays in a glass.

The way a thought stays

when you've had it so many times

it's worn smooth—like a coin

that's lost the face.

The cursor blinked in the field

where my name would eventually appear.

The webinar had covered

document retention, workplace conduct,

the ethics of several things I will not remember.

I clicked the right ovals.

I clicked them without reading.

Somewhere in the second hour

I noticed I had not had a real thought in days.

Not the kind where you follow something

all the way down.

Just: task. Just: next. Just: okay.

The bar held at ninety-seven.

I watched it the way you watch

a ceiling fan that isn't on—

not hoping. Not bored exactly.

Something past bored.

Something without a name

in the training materials.

My name appeared.

The certificate generated.

A font designed to feel like an occasion.

I left the tab open for eleven more minutes

and tried to find the edge

of what I was.