Lodged

I hit the wood because the words were stuck.

I didn't feel the grain or the rotten luck.

Now there's a needle of cedar beneath the skin,

a tiny reminder of where I begin.

It throbs with the rhythm of my own blood.

A dark little hair in the fleshy mud.

I try to dig it out with a rusted pin.

It’s deep. It’s staying. I let the pain win.