Awkward Connections

I bumped my elbow hard, caught in the sprawl,

as I reached for my coffee, feeling the fall.

A dull throb that lingers, sharp in its claim,

bone meets wood, awkward, a dance without aim.

In the quiet of morning, a moment’s small strife,

reminds me of fractures—this is part of my life.

Each ache is a whisper, each bruise a small trace,

of all the connections that time can’t erase.

What do I want to say? It echoes in pain,

as I cradle my elbow, caught in the mundane.

Yet here in this throbbing, a story takes form,

a fleeting reminder to weather the storm.