Adhesion

The Scotch tape finally let go,

brittle and yellow as an old tooth.

The receipt for the wool coat

drifted down like a dead leaf

to the linoleum.

I’m left with the crust on the door,

a rectangle of tacky, hardened glue

catching the kitchen light.

It’s been there since November,

holding a debt I already paid.

I reach for the milk,

leaving the paper on the floor.

The fridge hums back to life,

filling the space where

the silence was starting to itch.