The Dull Ache

I tell you it feels like a nail in the bone

right where the arch meets the heel.

You look at the TV, you look at your phone,

like you don’t think the damage is real.

I press my thumb hard on the center of pain,

leaving a white, hollow dip in the flesh.

You say that it’s probably just from the rain

or the way that the sneakers don’t mesh.

The mark disappears as the blood rushes back.

I’m standing right here in the light.

But the map of the hurt is a hidden-up track

that I have to walk through tonight.