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.