Ceiling Joists

The vibration starts in the hollow of my jaw.

Every time he paces, I can feel the flaw

in the way this building was put together.

The skillet hit the floor and the crown molding bled

a fine, white dust across the center of the bed.

I tore the corner off a legal pad.

It’s a pathetic way of being mad,

taping a note to the grain of his door

with a strand of my hair caught in the tape

like a fuse that’s forgotten its shape.