The notes swirling around us,
the mirrored steps we take
mean nothing

“I feel sick,”
you say.
The door slams shut.
You’re left with nothing
but the bile and the baby

The apartment swirling around me,
the odor of death
thick in my lungs.
Vomit climbs up my throat
“This was yours”
I shout.

The baby cries,
you don’t bat a lash,
“This is alright.”
I say.
“It’s normal.”
you reply.
The baby heaves on your shirt.
Piano chords stutter
as the record player skips
as the record player skips
as the record player skips

The notes swirling around us.