Short Circuit

My left eye has a life of its own now.

It started while she was explaining the severance,

a tiny, frantic drumming under the skin.

I tried to pin it down with a thumb,

but the muscle just scoffed.

It’s a moth hitting a hot bulb in there,

dusty wings beating against the lid.

I can’t stop the vibration.

I can’t pretend I’m composed

when my own face is signaling a retreat.

The brain says "be still."

The nerve says "watch me jump."