Your Mind Wanders During the MRI

They tell you to remove your valuables,
your metal, settle you with music, tell
you to remain perfectly still, relax.

But the music disappears with the hum
and rattle of the machinery, rhythmic,
like waves, and you are tucked so tightly

into the bed that you feel as if you are
already dead, arranged for burial in
some Norse ritual — the mad pounding

of hammers, the laying of offerings,
your clan on the shore. Then the fire
engulfs you, and you are set afloat in

the dim light of dawn, strapped in for
the afterlife, alone with the wind,
the sea, the broad boat of your body.

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