What She Wrote

She circled it with a purple marker,

said we'd watch it. The room got darker

the way rooms do when something gets noted

and not explained. She uncapped, she quoted

nothing at me — just the pen, the dot,

the chart. I watched her write. I got

nothing from her face. She said: next year.

I said okay. That part was clear.

The part that wasn't: what she wrote.

I left with the circle. I took note

of the smear at the bottom edge — the cap

of the marker had caught. A small gap

in the line. Every morning since,

I check it in the mirror. The rinse

of showers is taking the purple down.

The circle's going. Still around

the freckle, which hasn't changed.

Just the marker, slowly estranged

from the skin. And me, still checking.

Still adding up what she wasn't saying.