A Minor Thing

by Nancy Lynée Woo

The cell jingles.
Paperclips lay
strewn across desk,
an essay in turmoil.
I pick up.
Better than a
smoke break.
We steamroll
around words
interrupted.
Mild tones.
The cat purring.
Window light.
Switching tabs, then
he says it, like
nothing.
Heart in chest.
Once again, back
in shadow.
Two days lost.
Paperclips still
holding nothing
together.
Page hanging
mid-sentence
from Wednesday.
Bed imprinted
with the fever
of an old loss.
Deadlines
approaching.
Dusk.
Such a minor thing,
to find out
he loves another.