Circumstances

The doc and I talk

Rush—a shared love of prog rock.

Needle in his hand,

he fashions a scar,

thread closing the eye opened

on my neck, now lashed.

Stitches stagger, leap

in tense, strict asymmetry,

a lone boy dancing

near teen me, singing,

hunched over an inner sleeve,

Closer to the Heart.

With thanks to Dr. J.S. for being human with me on a tough day

Note to non-nerds: The title and last line of this poem are Rush songs I found intriguing as a teenage girl trying to make sense of the world. I know people love to make fun of Rush—their intellectualism and supposedly soulless musical precision, but they were my obsession, my introduction to poetry, a heady, earnest alternative to the shitty glam metal of the 80s my friends loved. I dare you, sweetheart, to listen to their entire catalogue, to watch documentaries of their incredible decades together, and see if you’re still too cool.