first, i choked on a cherry pit.

no, first I wrote a short story
about a woman grinding up cherry seeds
to make cyanide, then I choked on
a cherry  pit.
then I called 911.
then I saw a man with blue eyes
lead me into the truck.
Tom.
I’m in a stupor which slowly
becomes a comfortable stasis of mine.
care and comfort. ten minute ride
of care and comfort.

then I took a pregnancy test.
then I sobbed.
then I saw the psychiatrist.
then I talked for one whole hour
in heaves of cry.
never tell them anything.
but I begin to tell them everything.
he hands me a piece of paper with
a psychiatrist who doesn’t take my insurance.
i walk home alone in short shorts
in the rain, confused.

never tell them anything.

“Tom”