My whole life I’ve been afraid of tornadoes.
I remember the black widows
in the window well outside my bedroom,
and how afraid I was
they would make their way in.

I’d say I was afraid of heights,
and I live in the mountains.
Planes are still a no go.
Ladders make me tremble.
Roller coasters make me anxious.

My blood pressure raises
whenever I go to the doctor.
If a bill is not paid, I can’t sleep.
Highway, overpasses,
icy bridges,
and narrow dirt roads
make me tense.

Losing you is the worst thing I can think of.

But somewhere in there
above dentist offices and being alone at the mall,
but below submarines and black holes
is that little pink line.

When my period is late
and I sit there waiting
for the longest three minutes of the year.
When I start imagining how I’ll tell your mom.
When I imagine the look on your face.

And when the timer goes off
that moment of hesitation
that quiet before the torrent of emotion,
the anticipation that wells up under my diaphragm
the shivers down my spine
and the lump in my throat
for a single glance
To rip it all away.