Halfway Through the Cut

The saw bites down,

rough teeth sinking uneven,

wood fibers scream,

splinters break loose, sharp

like the edges of old arguments,

frayed, unfinished.

A chair leg gives way,

crashing down, a snap that

doesn't quite fit the room.

Hands stop—frozen mid-pull,

fingertips numb from the uneven tear,

waiting for a smooth line that never comes.

Halfway through the cut,

all the promise of straight edges

fractures into jagged silence.