For the third time,

a health care professional

asked me,

"Did you sprain your ankle

a long time ago? It seems bad,

like it never fully healed."

I have no memories

before age 12.

I have no history

to offer except this

moment by moment

reel of what sticks

in a slippery mind.

The way I like it.

The safe unknown.

I can offer myself,

a being of spiked pain,

meandering glances,

hesitant connection.

Did I sprain my ankle horribly

in childhood?

I don't know.

Probably.