is sally home?

when it gets cold
my skin dries up and needs
scratching.
I can feel the flakes
of old me
curling at the edges.
perhaps not poetic material
here, but
so what.
my back itches.
I can't find my
long wooden scratcher
that my son gave
me for Christmas one year,
unwrapped,
and my wooden soup spoon broke
when I tried to unclog
the garbage disposal
after a turkey
bone got stuck.
so i'm down to door edges,
rolling on the floor
with my dog,
trying to get him
to hop on my back
and scratch.
I search the attic of
my mind to try and remember
who is it that I know
who has the longest
set of nails.
betty, no,
Yolanda, maybe, sally.
yes. it's sally.
here's hoping she's home.