Low Shelf

Just reaching down for the cat food

on the bottom shelf.

A quick twist, a dull thud

inside the old framework of myself.

Not a snap, not a tear, just a quiet throb.

It settled in, behind the knee, a low hum.

A new tenant, there to rob

that effortless bend I’d always presumed.

Later, trying to hold a coffee cup,

my hand gave a little shake, just barely seen.

A blue vein, near the wrist, pushing up.

Something in the glass looked less than keen.