Tonight's Poet Corner: The Nail On My Little Toe
The Nail On My Little Toe
by Belinda Roddie
The keratin separated
from its skin hinges, like a
castle drawbridge torn from the
stones of such a frail fortress.
This is
where my balance is meant to lie,
yet here I am,
using tissue to clean up the blood,
dabbing at this tiny hero
who once kept my ancestor's grip firm
on a branch in the middle of the canopy.
Such a beauty of leaves,
a ceiling with no need for a chandelier,
just the gold sprinkling across green
as you try to hold yourself together,
piece by piece,
digit by digit.
by Belinda Roddie
The keratin separated
from its skin hinges, like a
castle drawbridge torn from the
stones of such a frail fortress.
This is
where my balance is meant to lie,
yet here I am,
using tissue to clean up the blood,
dabbing at this tiny hero
who once kept my ancestor's grip firm
on a branch in the middle of the canopy.
Such a beauty of leaves,
a ceiling with no need for a chandelier,
just the gold sprinkling across green
as you try to hold yourself together,
piece by piece,
digit by digit.
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