The Noise

The baby is finally down in the crib

and the house is a minefield of plastic blocks.

I’m holding my breath, stepping light,

trying to make it to the kitchen for a glass of water.

On the bottom step, I shifted my weight

and my left ankle let out a wet, loud snap.

It sounded like a dry branch breaking in a well.

I froze, waiting for the wail from upstairs,

stripping my sock off in the hall light.

The veins are branching out over the bone,

blue and purple lines that don't belong to me,

a map of a city I never meant to visit,

running toward the toes like rivers

that forgot where they were supposed to end.