Stuck Passage

Cold metal presses

against my shoulder—

a turnstile that won’t turn,

its stubborn bars

refusing to yield.

Behind me, sighs rise like steam,

impatient hands shoving

against the jammed gate,

trapped breaths held

in a half-step dance.

A pause where the world

waits for permission,

where movement stalls

and the day fractures

into stillness and frustration.

I lean in,

a slow push,

trying to find the turn

that won’t come.