Michael J. Kolb

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Going Under

They ask my name three times.
I answer each one like proof
I am still the correct body.
A nurse checks the band on my wrist.
Someone tapes my chest.
The room sharpens.
By me a signed form lists everything
that could go wrong:
percentages, small print,
a language built to be survived
rather than read.
This is the last place
I can still refuse.
The needle enters.
Cold moves up the arm,
a storm with intent.
Count backward, someone says.
Ten.
Nine.
The ceiling opens wide.
My name drifts from the room
before I do.
Then nothing
holds me
but the hands I have agreed to trust.

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.