Testimony

He looks at the graph on the page

and the numbers in a row.

He’s measuring my middle age

and the things I ought to know.

But the fire is behind my ribs,

a jagged, pulsing heat.

He thinks my body tells the fibs

while I’m sitting in the seat.

A glass of water on the stand

has a seed that will not sink.

I’m holding out my shaking hand

over the metal of the sink.

He says the scans are coming clear,

that the blood is doing fine.

I’m drowning in a quiet fear

on the wrong side of the line.