There’s a crack in the palm of my hand

Looks like a little crater in some desert land

I’m reminded it’s there when I touch alcohol or salt

The reason it’s there is my fault

I can’t blame the cold for my dry skin

I wish I could say it was from hanging on the pull-up bar

Or from helping my neighbor bring her groceries in

I wonder if it will leave a scar

I’m always aware

It’s acutely there

As I wave, as I write, as I work, as I lift

This sliced up hand is still a gift

Some days I think the crater gets deeper

But the fruit of these hands gets sweeter

Here I am again back where it all started

My fingers wrapped around what was never discarded

That plastic box that holds the cookies

Its jagged edges, once opened, shook me

Sliced me

It happens each night

I know it’s dicey

But chocolate peanut butter, what delight

My taste buds plead

Satisfied

As my hand bleeds