Fingertips

How much has slid out of my grasp?

I think of the myriad of memories held beneath these spiral ridges

Dusty house keys, smooth ivory, brass knobs

Shattered glass, melted snow, front dew dotting my windows and lawn

Stubborn acrylic that refuses to wash off and cooking oil seething to the touch

Callouses emerging because I practiced a tad bit too much

Steel strings digging deeply and way too rough

And yet the all these memories can't hold a candle to the whiplash I felt

When I finally had to discern your ginger embrace wasn't heartfelt

At all