The teacher is talking about developmental milestones

The teacher is talking about developmental milestones,

her voice a flat, steady drone against the heat.

I’m nodding, trying to look like a person who owns

the calm of the suburbs and a house on this street.

Then a hot, heavy bloom slides down my lip,

a sudden, metallic salt filling my mouth.

I feel the first thick and dark copper drip

heading for my collar, heading for the south.

It splashes on the desk, right on the yellow sun

of a finger-painted sky my daughter made.

The teacher stops mid-sentence, the damage is done,

and I’m holding my face while the dignities fade.