Phone Face Down

I woke up and the phone was loud.
Two texts from Mrs. Kessler. September.
One from Hollis. I won't read it even in my head.
I put the phone face down on the bed.
I do not want to need anyone today.

Kips Bay at noon. Marisol and the baby Ezra.
She said no one else.
He was on the couch.
He did not say a word the whole time.
That is worse. The quiet ones.
My hands knew the work. My smile knew the work.
Inside I was already putting my shoes back on in my head.
Ezra smelled like baby shampoo and clean.
I held him close one extra second.
That is the part I will not tell anyone.

L train home. I typed "later" to Maya.
One word.
It means: not tonight.
Not tonight do I want to be needed.

September is gone from my calendar.
I deleted it myself.
No more bad doorways for me.
I am so tired of doors.