Acoustics

The brass ring slipped

and hit the third-floor landing

with a sharp, hungry bite.

It didn't just fall; it rang

down the concrete throat of the building

until the basement swallowed the light.

I gripped the handrail

where the green paint is flaking

like a scab I shouldn't have picked.

My palm left a damp ghost on the metal

while I waited for a door to open,

or for a neighbor to yell,

or for the air to stop

vibrating against my teeth.