What Gives

The knob has been loose

for three weeks now.

Every time I reach for it,

there's that play in the metal,

that give,

that small betrayal

of something that should

be solid.

Today I tested it

deliberately.

Turned my wrist.

Felt it rattle

inside the fixture,

the whole thing

shifting

just enough

to notice,

just enough

to know

it's not holding

like it should.

I should fix it.

I won't.

There's something

about the wobble

that feels true,

that feels like

the only honest thing

in a house

where everything else

pretends

to be secure.

The knob will fail

eventually.

The door will open

when I'm not

expecting it.

Or it won't open

at all.

Either way,

I'll know it's coming.

I've felt it

in my hand,

the way it doesn't

grip,

the way it

gives.