Ode To My Knuckle

Because I almost lost you--
more then once.
You rest on my left middle finger
all wrinkly and white, you’re my

fleshy loose skin with crevasses deep,
fold them over and you can sleep.
Oh, how rare and precious
the covering of my joint!

It happened one night, so clean and bright
snipping brown hair,
coarse and curly--
hugging me tight.

In a brief moment and swipe of my shears,
a gasp of horror led to tears.
I look and see as cool water clears
gushes of blood --

And my knuckle, hanging so free.


(It was an assignment two years ago or so. I had to write an Ode about something that meant a lot to me... just in case you were wondering)