I broke my back this morning.

As I leaned over to grab a spilled breakfast crumb off the kitchen floor

I collapsed into a giant heap.

My husband and children attempted to sweep me up and put me back together again,

but it was an impossible feat.

My sacrum no longer fit into the seat of my spine

so instead they placed it on top of my neck bone.

My tailbone,

now split in half,

was carefully placed as a sixth finger on each hand.

My leftover vertebrae were fixed

at various locations throughout my body:

between my two front teeth,

on the nipple of one breast,

wedged in my belly button,

behind both ears,

at the heel of my left foot,

and in the empty pocket behind my liver.

Now I no longer walk

but instead scoot across the floor on a

discarded towel from last night’s dinner.

I will no longer sleep in bed at night,

but instead in the crate with the dog.

She will massage my shoulders and

lick the vertebrae behind my ears.

She will hum

a gentle lullaby,

while I drift off

into a whimsical

pain-free

sleep.