The Wearing

I walk this parking lot maybe three times a week.

Today I actually saw it.

The concrete was cracked in a specific pattern—

branching, like lightning, like veins,

the kind of pattern that takes years to make.

At dusk the shadows in the cracks got darker,

made the pattern more visible,

made it look intentional,

like someone had drawn it.

I stood there looking.

Thinking about how much you don't notice

when you're just trying to get somewhere.

The concrete under my feet.

Splitting in real time, so slowly

you can only see it if you stop.

I've been walking over this

three times a week.

The cracks have been getting deeper.

The pattern getting more specific.

Time does this.

Makes small marks.

Wears things down.

Cracks what looks solid.

I got in my car and drove home.

The next time I park here

I'll probably walk over the same cracks

without seeing them.

But now I know they're there.

Now I know the pattern.

Now I'll have to try not to see it.