Antiseptic

The mailbox was a jagged tooth.

I wasn't paying attention

to the rust or the wet grass

until the metal opened my skin.

The glass rod is cold and thin.

I'm watching the orange track

run down the lifeline of my palm,

staining the white porcelain of the sink.

I’ve washed it three times

but the color won't settle.

It looks like a permanent bruise

reminding me to watch my hands.