The Jitter

The guardrail is still humming in my ears.

I made it home, I parked the car,

but the kitchen is tilting on its side

and the hallway feels too far.

I poured a glass of water to be still,

to prove the pavement didn't win.

But my hands are making their own music,

shaking against the bone and the skin.

The water ripples in concentric rings.

A tiny storm inside the plastic rim.

My nerves are still trying to steer the wheel

away from the edge where the light gets dim.