PHALANGE I used to—with a flashlight— inspect the bones in my hand a child’s fascination: what’s in? orange phalange glow but the bones in these hands of mine moved like worms in there and I was scared so I called Mum on a black bakelite telephone with a dial instead of buttons and I kept messing up the number because of the worm-bones I guess She said it was normal for someone my age to feel like their bones are made of worms but honey she said try and think about noodles instead and you will feel better _____ Allison Fairhurst is a poet, novelist, and blogger currently living in Montreal. She is working on an illustrated collection of dream poems that explore the relationship between brain and psyche. She was last published in Bone Bouquet, issue 5.1. She can be found at www.allisonfairhurst.com.