The Waiting Room Aquarium
The fish know nothing
of cataracts,
retinas,
biopsies,
blood tests,
the folded fears
patients carry in their pockets.
They move through their blue republic
without diagnosis.
A yellow tang
crosses the glass
like a brushstroke.
A child presses her hand
against the tank.
An elderly man
studies the angelfish
with the concentration
of a theologian.
Nobody speaks.
The aquarium performs
its ancient duty:
to borrow attention
from worry.
For a few minutes
we surrender
our private storms.
The fish drift
through castles,
plastic coral,
manufactured treasure.
Even the bubbles
appear purposeful.
Then names are called.
One by one
we rise.
The child.
The old man.
The woman gripping a magazine
she has not read.
Soon the waiting room empties.
Only the fish remain,
circling the same bright water,
teaching the lesson
we repeatedly forget:
that life continues
even while we wait
to learn what comes next.
About the Author: David Anson Lee is a retired ophthalmologist, professor, and philosopher. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in numerous literary journals and anthologies, including Eclectica Magazine, Kinsman Quarterly, Penumbra, SoFloPoJo, Lit Shark, and The Jagged Edge. He lives and writes in Houston, Texas.
Image Credit: Theo van Rysselberghe “Rascasses et homards dans un aquarium” (1909) Public domain image courtesy of Artvee
As It Ought To Be 