Room 4

The appointment ran two hours long.

My phone at eleven percent. I'd read

what I had. Nowhere to go. The wrong

kind of waiting—the overhead

light too bright for closing your eyes.

One tile had a water stain,

brown, feathered at the edge. The size

and shape of a coastline. I tried to name

which country. Couldn't settle. Close

to Portugal—but the bottom was too wide.

Someone coughed. The receptionist chose

not to look up. I kept my eyes applied

to the stain.

They called my name.

I hadn't decided.