What You Said When You Were Ready to Say It

She mentioned it once,

the way you mention a plan

you're not sure you'll keep—

I think I might be—

and then we moved to something else

and I let us

because she seemed to want to.

Eleven-fourteen.

It didn't work out.

I called twice.

Left a message the second time.

Something soft, something like

I'm here, call whenever,

the way you say words

that are really just

a held door.

The three dots came up on my screen.

Moving.

For almost a minute

I watched them

rearrange whatever she was trying

to say

and then go still.

I don't know what share of this is mine.

She gave me half a thing to hold.

I held it.

Now I'm in my kitchen past midnight

with a phone still on

and a message still unread

and I don't know

what I'm allowed to grieve.