hair-line fracture

i am frugal with my wrists
i won't let them see you, enough
now, i'll say, and push them back
into my sleeves, hurriedly

like they could really catch
a cold from your eyes. your
two glaciers of disinterest, kind
of sparked your curiosity

did i? my wrists, they creak
like old willows breaking in
the wind, hunching from the knot
along their side, heavy with

finger branches, soft keratin
leaves you can rip out sometimes
after it rains heavy like
the storm i slept through last

night, and you told me there
was hail, and howling and i
did not believe you until i asked
other people. why is

that? how i don't believe
in storms. how i don't believe
my wrists could hold out under
the pressure of a watch even

though i used to wear three,
and tell them all to guess which
one worked. least of all, i know
my wrists aren't broken.