Dead Bolt

I went digging for a card to ride the train

and found this heavy, brass-toothed ghost instead.

It’s been sliding through the lining like a stain

or a secret thought I kept inside my head.

It scraped my knuckle in the dark of the wool,

a jagged edge that used to own a door.

I can’t remember if the turn was a push or a pull,

or which hallway it doesn’t belong to anymore.