She says, “I’ll be back in just a minute,”
The door closes,
Her white coat disappearing
around its edge.
My legs swing
from the exam table,
bare heals hitting
its metal underside.
Chronos is palpable
moving slowly through the room,
echoing off jars of tongue depressors,
packaged needles and diagrams of lipid systems.
The sound is deafening.
Then silence descends,
Kyros fills the room.
I am pulled into my own hope
that this place, this doctor,
this now, will cure this pain.
And I can leave the lifetime
of Chronic and be born again.
