The screen door slammed itself shut

The screen door slammed itself shut,

a loose tooth banging hard against the frame.

I stood still, the dusk pulling cold at my skin,

listening to the rattling—metal on wood,

sound like tired teeth grinding in a sleep not mine.

It swings out of line, hanging on worn hinges,

a tired dance that creaks apart unnoticed,

till wind grabs it, shakes it loud.

The house inhales a shaky breath,

then holds it, waiting for quiet.

I watch the rattle

and the swing,

and wonder how long

things break

without breaking

all the way.