Pull of the Floor

The spoon hit the tile

with a sound too loud

for a quiet kitchen.

Metal on cracked white, the clang

pressed down through the soles of my feet,

like the whole room

was dragging me under.

I feel it then—

not just weight but a pull

like the earth wants more,

wants me folded tight

against the cold floor.

And I’m breathing slow,

half-afraid I’ll fall

right through the sound.