Pressure Point

The mirror shows the toothpaste

white against the skin.

I lift my arm to reach the brush

and see where the bruise crept in.

It is an overripe fruit, a yellowing

stain on the inner part

where the shelf hit the bone

and gave me a sudden start.

I don't remember the ache of it,

only the weight of the wood,

and the way I had to strain

to hold on as best I could.