glass like a fish bone

pierces my foot

thin, long, choking-sharp.

I twist up recalcitrant ankles,

make eyes of my fingertips,

and the shard becomes a glittering tear

on – not in – my right thumb.

thank god, I think,

for little things.

for the thick soles of my feet

(why did I ever buff them down?)

and my hard, hard head.