The screen glows in the dark of the hall

The screen glows in the dark of the hall,

a ghost from a summer I thought was dead.

My sister’s text makes the phone feel small.

I’m hunched in a kitchen, tilting my head.

The flash caught the oil on the bridge of my nose,

a white hot dot in a blurry face.

My thumb is caught where the denim sews

the belt loop into a narrow space.

I stand at the mirror and drop my chest,

trying to see if I’m still that man.

The posture is there, a heavy guest,

under the skin where the trouble began.