Pinned in Time

Sticky with old sap,

cracked at the hinge,

a wooden clothespin grips

an orphaned page—

faint linen scent, sun-warmed and stubborn.

Between forgotten lines

it clings, a dry tooth

holding memories folded tight,

pressing dust and sunlight

against yellowed paper.

I pull it free,

crack brittle as cold wood,

a small weight in my palm,

tethered to a moment

I can't quite place.

The hinge stiffens,

a silence wrapped in grain,

waiting to snap

or hold.