Smallest Anchor

I borrowed the guitar because it looked easy,

a hollow body with a sunburst face,

but my hand is a clumsy, tired thing

when it tries to find its place.

I reached for the high G, the wire thin,

and my smallest finger just wouldn't bend.

It hovered there, stiff and shy,

like a child at the party's end.

I watched the knuckle go chalk-white,

pressing down until the bone started to ache.

It’s the first time I’ve noticed the limit,

the specific distance before I break.