Bone Landmark

Resting my hand on the table,

the light caught it.

The sharp, clean curve

of my wrist bone.

It presses against the skin,

a small, insistent landmark.

There’s thin skin there,

stretched taut,

showing the blue veins

like rivers on a map.

A faint scar, pale white,

from that time I fell off the bike.

Just bone, and skin, and a little mark.

This is me.