Two Words

The text came in at eleven.

Seven words.

I read them twice.

The refrigerator made its sound.

A car went past outside.

I opened the keyboard and typed:

I'm so sorry, I—

deleted it.

Typed: God, are you—

deleted it.

Typed: Do you want me to

and sat there with my thumb above send

and deleted it.

The screen went dark.

I woke it up and typed: I'm here.

Two words.

Sent them before I could decide

if they were enough.

They weren't.

I knew that while I was pressing send.

But I'd been standing there

for forty minutes

and the tile was cold

and I didn't have the right words

for what had happened to her

for the third time,

and my legs were getting tired.