Unseen Weight on the Floor

I spilled the coffee—

hot, sudden—right down my shirt.

I fled to the bathroom,

searching for something

to catch the heat and shame.

There it lay, forgotten,

a heavy cotton towel,

crumpled in damp folds,

threadbare and smelling faintly

of last week's rain,

a shadow pooling on cracked tile.

I wrapped it around my fingers,

feeling the roughness, the weight

of every careless moment

it had absorbed,

quiet and unclaimed.

No one saw it there,

lying small and soaked,

but it held the day’s sharp edges,

the slip, the burn,

and the quiet regret

of leaving things behind.