Countdown. Poem by Miki Byrne

Countdown.

I do not know him. Yet he sees me almost naked.
We met only minutes ago but I lie before him exposed,
heart pounding. I must trust him. Though there is
no past between us. No relationship to give me faith
in his ability. Hope battles fear and I breathe,
slowing the birds of nightmare that batter against my ribs.
He takes my hand. Softly. There could be promise there.
Of kindness, a fleeting connection of one human to another,
but he just slides a cannula beneath my skin.
I am a car in a garage. A bottle filled by a machine.
Another body passing on the conveyor belt of surgery.
This man knows nothing of me. My strengths
abilities, faults and talents-and I don’t know his.
Except one. The one in which I place my faith
like a newborn into the arms of a stranger. He looks at me,
eyes barred by professional distance. I meet his gaze
and he half-smiles, as if my fear has grown hands,
sketched parenthesis about his eyes.
His head dips the tiniest amount. Small as a leaf-flicker
on a bronze-hot day. I feel cold fluid ooze into my veins.
Together we recite: Ten, nine, eig...