I stepped on a shard bare-footed

in the kitchen

where we had argued last


likely from that glass

I dropped on the way to the sink

a few weeks ago


you can hardly see it

a small cut

hard nugget inside

lodged in the inner toe mound


I might have missed it

if it didn’t hurt so much

when I walked the wrong way


And in the kitchen

when I daydream the wrong way

you appear


or rather

that mere sliver of yourself



lodged so firmly


most of the time


But in time

these pains will pass


either a callus will form

so hard and wide

that it will cover the shard

until it is entombed

without threat of resurrection


or the cut will swell

balloon like a blister

burn me tight

until one day

it will explode pus and blood

washing the sliver away


 Albert Katz

Albert Katz has been a professor of cognitive psychology for over 40 years and is now on the cusp of retiring. In his undergraduate days he had aspirations to be a poet, gave readings in coffee houses and published some poems in long defunct small literary journals. He found it increasingly harder to write poetry once he started graduate work and through most of his academic, career, publishing extensively instead in scientific journals. He has been married (and divorced) twice, has three children, two of whom have published themselves. As retirement started to loom, he found that his poetic voice started to reappear, after almost 50 years dormant. Over the last two years he has published  (or have poems accepted for publication) in Poetry Quarterly, Three Line Poetry, Inman Indiana and, most recently, Pangolin Review. He has had one poe published previously in Ariel Chart.


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