Settling

The house has a lean to the left,

a slow-motion fall into the dirt.

I try to pull the bathroom door shut

but the wood starts to scream and hurt.

It won't click into the metal plate.

The latch is a quarter-inch too low,

leaving a sliver of hallway light

that I didn't want to know.

It cuts across the tile like a blade,

a reminder of everything out of line.

I’m living in the space between

what is broken and what is mine.