she was short
though her hair was long
like she might have
been the tallest girl in fifth grade
but hadn’t
grown
since
she had a ring on every finger
and i could feel them
as she held my hand.
i could see them, too,
all different and unique,
when i averted my eyes and glanced
at her hands gripping mine in empathic comfort.
i wondered if she wore them on purpose
a distraction from the shameful
noises
of
the
procedure.
her voice, a kind distraction, too,
though i cannot recreate the characteristics,
only the words.
“you’re doing fine.”
“only a few more minutes.”
“it’ll be over soon.”
and then
“you made the right decision.”
was she supposed to say that?
how could she know that?
but thank god she said it.
maybe she did know
that i would never hear
those words again
from
anyone
else.