Lapse in Caution

I’ve been carrying myself like a box

of thin-stemmed glasses for three months flat.

Measuring the shock of the sidewalk,

toeing the curb like a nervous cat.

But the train didn’t wait for my dignity.

I hit the concrete with a heavy, blunt sound,

and realized the glass hadn't shattered in me—

I was just meat and heat hitting the ground.

By the time I reached the plastic seat,

my shirt had a salt stain, white and wide.

I felt the blood in my face like a treat.

It’s good to be back on the inside.