Joint

The remote hit the floor and rolled under the chair.

I went down to reach for the plastic,

and the hinge of my leg gave a sharp, dry pop

like a branch snapping under a boot.

The tile is cold against the skin.

I stayed there for a second, pinned by the sound,

waiting for the ache to settle into the marrow.

It’s a new kind of weather in the body,

the way the gears start to grind

just for the sake of moving an inch.