Loose Grip

Again, this morning,

the bathroom door.

The knob turned,

but the spindle slipped,

a grinding sound,

a slight give,

then it wobbled in my hand,

a loose, brass thing.

It feels like

it could just

come off entirely,

roll away

under the clawfoot tub.

A small thing,

this constant threat,

this half-broken hold,

but it rattles me,

the way things hang on,

just barely,

not quite secure,

a constant, tiny fear.