Hurt Small

The frost on the knob was deep,

the shock quick, the sting I couldn't keep

from my mind all day—

small burn, small way

to learn that winter teaches through the small things,

through doorknobs and the small stings

that linger like a question:

why does this hurt like an aggression

when it's barely anything at all?

Hours later my fingertip still

remembered, still refused to be still,

still flinched at the next door.