Subcutaneous

It’s a dark, thin line beneath the thumb,

a splinter of a fence I shouldn't have touched.

I poked it with the tweezers until I was numb,

but the wood is buried, stubborn and clutched.

The metal tips just click against my skin.

They cannot reach the thing that’s gone to ground.

I’ll have to wait for the swelling to begin

and let the body push what it has found.

It’s part of me now, a quiet, stinging grain

that hurts whenever I try to hold a glass.

A small, internal souvenir of pain

that I’ll just have to watch and let it pass.