Uninvited Visitor

The test strip tucks itself

between shirt seams—forgotten,

yet now impossible to ignore.

A faded blue, faint but clear,

like a secret shouted in a quiet room.

The walls don’t answer,

only the cold light in the pocket.

I’m folding shirts, packing boxes,

hearing the silence shout.

Did I want this, or is it a twist

that stepped in when I wasn’t looking?

The line blurs — just like me,

a sudden knock on a door

I wasn’t ready to open,

but now can’t pretend is gone.