Walls Between Rooms

She slammed the door so hard

that the splintered frame shuddered,

a dry crack that settled like dust

into the corners of the room.

Her footsteps thudded down the hall

like thunder retreating after rain.

Dinner plans twisted from words into silence,

and the kitchen shrank, cold and smaller.

I traced the rough edge where the wood split,

and it was a jagged scar,

one I didn't know how to soothe.

Months of quiet, built up like storm clouds,

burst in the clash of a moment too sharp

and too loud.

The house breathes uneven now,

waiting for the doors to open,

or maybe just to stop trembling.