some days I feel that history is written all over my body
the pressure in my left knee
as it hangs by the side of the bed
the knee which released blood into needles

some days
the divet at the tip of my nose
shines bright, whiter than the surrounding skin
a mohs procedure a few years back

some days
I consider polishing that toe nail
still misshapen after a collison with the
recycling bin wheel more than a year ago

some days
the crescent scars on the first and second knuckles
remind me of a kitchen I’d hoped not to remember
and a glass that shaped them in a soapy sink

some days
I smile about my oh so thin legs
and am reminded of my father
who was embarrassed to run on to the court