The Nurse Said It Was Routine

The paper on the exam table makes that sound

when you shift your weight —

the crinkle that announces

you are still a body.

She was explaining aftercare.

Something about elevation, about ice.

Her hand came to my shoulder

for maybe two seconds.

I had to concentrate to not

lean into it.

That's the part I've been sitting with

in the parking structure.

Not the procedure. Not the results.

The two seconds. The hand

moving on before I'd

registered it had arrived.

I drove to the third level.

Sat. The car was still warm.

I thought: I should call someone.

I didn't call anyone.

The embarrassment came first.

Then something else.

The paper on the table

was still crinkling when I left.