A Static Thump in the Chest

It’s just a thumb.

Pressed against the side of a sweating pilsner glass

in a photo where the sun is too bright

and the water in the background is too blue.

I know that thumb.

I know the way the nail is bitten down on the left side

and how the skin at the knuckle puckers

when the grip is tight.

It’s a ghost limb reaching out from the screen

to remind me that the world didn't stop turning

just because I stepped off the edge of it.

Someone else is holding the drink now,

watching the light change across that same hand,

while I sit in the dark with a blue glow on my face.