Kate Marsh
“I’m seeing some things that aren’t good,” she said like you were anything other than absolutely everything perfect and right
“I’d say 60/40,” she guessed when she put you into a portfolio and told us to trust the market
“Now is the time to be gentle with yourself,” she insisted as if there weren’t two of us there in one body, assigned to wait two weeks until Schrödinger’s scan
“Don’t make any emotional decisions today,” she pressed like she counted my scars and tallied my griefs and determined I had the budget for more purchases
“There’s still no heartbeat,” she told us slowly like this would make her bomb land with less devastation
“We have a memory crystal,” she offered like she wasn’t embarrassed it was cheap, acrylic, and big enough to fit 4 of you
“Here are your options,” she handed out like tonight’s specials, all the ways to separate us
“Do you think you’ll need some medication for the pain?” she asked pretending she wasn’t sending me home to labor and deliver on my own
“This all sounds very normal,” she assured after you were violently expelled from me
“It’s been an honor to journey with you,” she said, as if she knew us at all
Photo by Marek Studzinski on Unsplash