Bone House

Woke up to a protest,

a dull ache behind my ribs,

between the shoulder blades.

This strange bed.

Every turn, a negotiation.

The architecture

of my own body,

a stack of small stones,

some kind of brittle column

holding up the sky.

I lean against the wall,

feel the plaster's cool roughness.

My fingers stretch back,

trying to find the source,

that one small spot.

It's just bone,

just the careful hinge,

but today it's screaming.