Crooked and Holding

I assembled it wrong from the start—

one shelf higher than the other,

the frame twisted just enough to know

it shouldn't work, shouldn't hold,

but it held anyway.

Six months of books on crooked shelves,

everything at angles,

nothing falling.

A friend sat on it yesterday.

Actually sat, full weight,

and it didn't crack.

Didn't even creak.

I realized I'd stopped looking at it,

stopped noticing it was wrong.

It just became the thing that held things,

imperfect, stubborn,

doing its job badly

and doing it anyway.

Maybe that's enough.

Maybe that's the only holding that lasts—

the kind that's slightly wrong

and too stubborn to break.