The glass tips.
Red across the cotton.
It doesn’t stop at the surface.
It runs for the seam,
sinks into the weave.
You grab a towel.
Press.
Lift.
Press again.
The colour spreads
wider than your hand.
At the edges it dulls,
thickens.
By morning it marks the cloth
no longer surface.
You flip the sheet.
Your palm smells sharp,
vinegar-sweet.
The mattress keeps
its quiet map.
About the Author
Dianne Elizabeth Casey is a poet and author of Where the Light Folds In (2025). Her work appears in The Gentian, Crackle Dust, and Disability Arts Online, with forthcoming publications in 2026. Her poetry has been exhibited at the British Library and Stockton Globe Theatre
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