Cold Contact

The nurse’s hand presses the circle

of metal to my bare skin—

a sudden shock, a breath caught

between the tick and the tock.

Cold runs down the ridge of my ribs,

a sharp note slicing quiet.

For a moment, I am smaller,

exposed beneath the clinic’s hum.

The heartbeat is not mine alone,

but a pulse shared, raw and ragged.

Metal cools, breath warms,

and still the silence holds.

That touch—brief as a gust—

leaves a chill I can’t shake.