All Clear

The alarm went at 10:40.

We filed out through the stairwell,

through the lobby,

through the smoked glass doors

held open by whoever got there first.

Eleven minutes.

I stood in my designated zone

and looked at the building.

The front entrance.

The sign above it.

The smoked glass.

I thought: I don't want to go back in.

Not urgently.

Just clearly—

the way you know a thing

you've been not-knowing for a while.

The all-clear tone came through

on someone's phone.

Everyone started walking.

I walked with them.

The doors opened automatically.

I sat back down at my desk.

I couldn't find the thread of what I was doing.

I looked for it for the rest of the afternoon.