The Snap Before Silence

I reached into the drawer—expecting the stretch,

a pulse of tension between thumb and forefinger—

and then,

a crack so sharp it leapt through the room,

scattering spider legs across worn wood.

They lie there, fractured, brittle as promises,

broken in the quiet before the silence.

A small explosion in my palm,

a sudden end to the snap’s promise,

the tension gone, and nothing to hold.

And me, staring down at black shards,

wondering what else might break without warning.