What I Owe

The envelope slipped under the door,

a crumpled weight, edges worn.

Numbers stare like iron bars,

a ledger of the spaces I can’t cross.

Stamped due dates carve the day,

the paper’s crease presses on skin.

A weight heavier than worn floorboards,

heavier than the breath I hold.

Owing not just coins, but quiet hours,

frayed edges of promises unpaid.

I fold the notice once, twice,

feeling the debt stretch like shadow.