Again. It's such a simple word.
Slips off the tongue easily enough.
Ironic, again and again and again,
I heard it slip off the tongue of the
high school nurse.
She was a wonderful woman, never
failing to give me a soft smile when
I'd come into her office. A tiny bundle
of anxiety who refused to admit it was.
Again and again and again, I'd click my
mother's number on my phone, and sit
back as the two of them talked. Some
of the time I'd talk too, but usually I'd just
sit, until the phone was handed back.
I was only ever sick one time, strange to
say it. Looking back, those moments I
froze, chest feeling like it was going to
cave in, was almost always the cause.
I was sick, and I curled up on the cot
and she brought me water. I handed her
my phone, and heard the word again.
My mom was busy that afternoon, but I
assured her I could tough it out for an hour.
And I laid on that cot again and again and again.
