The Answer

The email came with the salary in bold.

Position. Start date. Everything I told

myself I needed, everything I prayed for

last spring, the answer to the door

I kept knocking on in quiet moments,

in conversations with anyone who'd listen—

I got it. I got the thing.

And now I'm sitting here calculating

what I'll lose—

the flexibility I have now,

the people I won't see,

the quiet mornings

becoming someone else's schedule.

This is what it feels like

when you get exactly what you asked for

and realize the asking

didn't include the bill.

The relief and the dread

are happening at the same time,

in the same place,

like they're the same emotion

in different clothes.

I should accept it.

I should send the email back.

I should be grateful

for the prayer that got answered,

for the transformation

that looks like growth

from the outside

but feels like the end

of something inside my ribs.

The job will change me.

Not how I thought.

Not how I prayed.

And I'm already mourning the person

I used to be

before the answer came,

before I learned

that some prayers

are just wishes

that don't ask permission

before they ruin you.