Hotline
When she asks, Are you a survivor, too?
I do not say
I have been trained not to answer that
On the page I have learned: confession
is another mask
When she asks,
What do you do when you can’t sleep? I don’t explain
how I walk around
my small town
in the middle of the night to remind myself
I say, We’re safe
We count our breaths together
I hold on while she goes to get an ice-cube
goes to the bathroom, cries, murmurs, maybe
even sleeps
Are you still there? She asks, Are you there?
the self calling the self back
the poem I was trying to make
I’m here. I’m here. We take turns saying
