At the Doctor’s Office
When the doctor says
I have permanent
hearing loss in both ears,
I imagine a monarch,
wide wings propped
on fragile legs,
resting on the wise doctor’s
balding head.
I shiver in their
thin green gown,
completely fit, except
this constant ringing
I’ve heard for years,
a side effect, I thought,
of silent retreats,
a hyper-attunement attained
through much hard work,
a sensitivity to the movement
of my body’s cells,
my inner cricket’s
tic, tic, tic.
When he adds:
It will get worse—
the butterfly lifts
on able wings
from it’s slippery perch,
unimpeded by dangling legs.