She chose the bench
facing the parking lot on
purpose. There was
nothing to look at but
cars and a row of hedges
someone had forgotten to
trim.
A dog barked somewhere.
A child dropped an ice
cream and did not cry.
She watched the mother
wipe the cone with a
napkin and hand it back.
She had come here to
think about a deadline.
Instead she thought about
how some things can be
dropped and picked up
again, still mostly
whole.
The afternoon sun moved
across her lap. She did
not check her phone. For
ten minutes, the pressure
of the week became a
small, manageable weight,
like a stone in her
pocket she could choose
to set down.