i sneezed again – this time i couldn’t blame it on your stale living room. there was nothing i could do but stare at the mucus cupped in my hands. better here – controlled, hidden – than splayed across the crook of your new satin jacket i had made such a big deal out of borrowing. everyone else at the party was busy chatting away – luckily there was no need for anyone to avert their eyes. “bless you,” i whispered to my hands, still held up in an offering gesture. at last i had something to take care of – a duty emerged from my failure. i still think about this every time i get sick.

—march 2024