Point of Entry

I was thinking about the light bill

and the way the hallway floor creaks

near the linen closet.

Then something bright and sharp

went right into the meat of my heel.

I sat on the edge of the tub,

pulling a red plastic thumbtack

out of my own skin.

I left a single, round drop of blood

on my thumb, a small, dark mark

from a calendar that isn't even there.