My lower back caught on a sharp jagged hinge

My lower back caught on a sharp, jagged hinge,

leaving me stuck in a dull, steady twinge.

I’m parked on the porcelain edge of the tub,

where the tiles are grainy and need a good scrub.

The curtain is hanging in heavy, wet folds,

printed with triangles, greens and the golds.

I’m tracing the blue ones until my eyes ache,

watching the patterns begin to vibrate and shake.

The light from the hall hits the plastic just right,

like a wall made of ice in the middle of the night.

I’m frozen in place while the water-spots dry,

too tired to move and too heavy to try.