I was only trying to find the 1099s

I was only trying to find the 1099s

buried in the back of the manila file.

I moved too fast across the jagged lines

of the folder's edge. I haven't for a while

felt something so small hurt quite so much.

It’s a clean, white valley in the webbing of my hand,

a sting that registers with every touch.

I stop and watch it, waiting to understand

why I’m suddenly blinking back a tear.

It isn't the pain. It’s the taxes, the debt,

the way the paper keeps track of every year

I spent being someone I’d rather forget.

A row of red beads begins to push and bloom

against the cream-colored cardstock on the floor.

I’m bleeding on my records in the gloom,

wondering what I’m even saving them for.