Loose on the Frame

Reached for the bathroom knob,

just now, in the half-light.

Felt it give. More than usual.

A clunk, a significant slack.

Like something inside let go.

My hand still holding the cold brass,

but the connection felt gone.

A small, domestic treason.

It rattles when I jiggle it,

a sound like old bones, loose

in their sockets.

It’s just a doorknob, I know.

But the way it hangs there,

so precariously,

makes me wonder what else

is barely holding on.

What else is about to come off

in my hand, leaving

just the hole.