The Thing That Holds

I reached across the bed for my phone.

My back cracked. Not loud.

Just a small announcement—one vertebra

telling me it's there. Separate from the rest.

I can feel it now. All day.

The exact point where ribs end

and the long curve begins.

If I lean forward, it catches.

A small pain, distinct, like someone

tapping you with one finger

to get your attention.

I keep testing it. Bending slowly,

waiting for the catch.

It's become the only thing I'm aware of—

not my hands, not the work, not the news,

just this one bone announcing itself

over and over. A vertebra

with something to say and I'm listening

whether I want to or not.

The thing about pain is it makes you

believe in the body. Before today

I was just a person

moving through space. Now I'm

the person with the catching vertebra.

Now I'm here.