Low Tide
by Noah
· 16/12/2025
Published 16/12/2025 14:48
She looked at my laces
as if the knots were a personal insult.
The grocery bags felt heavy,
the milk sweating through the paper.
She didn't have to say a word.
Her jaw just locked, a quiet click
that ended the conversation
before I could ask about her mother.
On the walk back, a white plastic bag
was caught in the chain-link by the tracks.
It snapped against the metal,
a loud, rhythmic licking
that sounded like a name being spat out.