Under the Skin

Pulled off the shoe.

The sock, it clung a bit,

a sticky, tender pull.

And there, on the heel's curve,

a small, white dome.

Taut skin, stretched thin,

a bubble filled with light,

a clear, clean fluid held

just under sight.

A red ring, angry,

around its fragile base.

It throbbed, a slow,

insistent, tiny beat.

How easily the body marks

its protests, quiet,

then a sharp,

sudden sting.

A small betrayal

of the ground we walk,

the miles we think we own.

A tiny lake of pain,

all my own.