Pending

Seventy-two hours of the same blank wall.

I’m standing by the Snickers and the mints,

waiting for the app to tell me anything at all

about the blood they took and haven't mentioned since.

The loading icon is a spinning, blue ghost.

It circles on the glass while my pulse starts to trip.

I’m buying milk and some butter for toast,

holding the phone with a white-knuckle grip.