Weight Bearing

The spice rack didn't even last a week.

I heard the drywall groan at 2 AM,

the sound of a slow, white surrender.

Now there are two jagged holes

and a pile of chalky dust on the floorboards.

I stepped on a loose nail in the dark,

a sharp reminder that my hands

weren't meant for holding things up.

I left the jars in a box on the counter.

The drywall is still bleeding white dust

every time the furnace kicks on.