The Sound Your Spine Makes

The fluorescent lights were humming. I bent

for a file that fell. Routine. My hand

reached down. My knees bent.

Then the sound. Loud. A crack.

Not pain. Just the sound. Just

my colleague's head turning toward me.

I stood up slow. The sound didn't repeat.

But now I'm aware of every vertebra.

The way they stack. The way

they're just resting on each other,

trusting. How fragile that trust is.

I've been sitting here for two hours

and I can feel them. All of them.

Each one bearing weight. The weight

of my shoulders. The weight of leaning forward

at this desk. The weight of not moving

wrong. The sound is still in my ears.

It sounded like something breaking.

But maybe it was just sound.

Maybe nothing is broken.

But I can't unknow the sound now.

I can't stop counting my spine.