Michael J. Kolb

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False Alarm

The call cuts dinner in half, fork stalled
midair, a voice asking if I can come within
the hour. I ask nothing. The bag waits
by the door. Hands steady, I drive through
unbroken dark. The road gives nothing back. Every light
holds me a second too long. At the desk
they take my name, my blood, my silence,
then lead me to a room with no bed, only chairs. Someone
enters, not surgeon, not nurse, but one who
does this for a living, and tells me: Not
viable. Thank you for coming. I
nod. I know how to nod now, how to hold
my face until I reach the car
and drive home with the bag
beside me, its silence heavier than any organ.

Michael J. Kolb is a poet, educator, and archaeologist based in Colorado.  He writes across disciplines, exploring nature, memory, and illness, asking what we carry and what we leave behind. His collection What Keeps Me Looking Out the Window was a finalist for the 2026 Press 53 Award. His poems have appeared in The Shore, Third Wednesday, ONE ART, Sky Island Journal, Eunoia Review, San Antonio Review,  Trampoline, The Ekphrastic Review, and elsewhere. He lives with his family and dogs where the mountains, shoreline, and changing weather continually shape his sense of place. 

Find him on Instagram at @michaeljkolb and on Substack at substack.com/@michaeljkolb.