I dust off the bruises
On my knees,
because after all I did fall.
A story rattles
loudly in my backpack,
post-shower mirror glance
shows someone else’s stomach
stretch out my hand
shocked that it’s me—
deep plum lines streaking
silly-nilly up, making my belly button
parenthetical, have gone silent
i eat ice cream from the carton
wiping drips with a dirty hand
smearing the stickiness onto the jeans
i've worn for a week
proof that something happened