I arrived late br to the mind’s eye br poetry group meeting br and I interrupted a critique of a prose poem br about a father tragically br losing his finger br in an lumber yard accident br br and before I could shake br the impression of a crushed finger br bleeding and screaming br out of my mind br br another writer mentioned br that her father had accidently br cut off his finger one day br and saved it in a clear mason jar br alongside other body parts he had lost br and I did not have the nerve br to ask which ones.