Stuck

The dial won't move.

It's stuck between 3 and 4 minutes,

which means it's stuck between

not enough time and enough time,

frozen in the moment

of almost-ready.

The plastic is cracked at the base.

I can see the mechanism inside,

the gears or springs or whatever

tiny thing is supposed to turn.

But it doesn't turn.

It just sits there, refusing

to count down,

refusing to mark the passage,

refusing to tell me when

anything will be done.

I try again. The dial doesn't budge.

It's not jammed like something that might

break free with enough force.

It's jammed like something that decided

one day to stop cooperating

and meant it.

So now I have to guess.

I have to boil pasta without knowing

when the pasta is done.

I have to trust my instinct,

my eye, the way I've always known

without being told,

and I hate it.

I hate that I can't rely on the timer.

I hate that I have to become

the mechanism, the counter,

the thing that knows.

I put the timer in a drawer.

Maybe I'll fix it later.

Maybe I'll just buy another one.

But right now I can't stand to look at it,

stuck between 3 and 4,

between not quite and almost,

refusing to move forward.