Wobbly Grip

The knob spins loose, a whispered fail,

a creak that cracks the quiet veil.

I twist it slow, surprise in sound,

a loose hold trembling all around.

Weeks of wobble, a slow goodbye,

hinges sigh and walls lie.

The doorframe hums a tired song,

the knob gives in—it can’t hold long.

A creak spills secrets down the hall,

a loosened grip begins to fall.

The dull clink echoes in my palm,

a sudden shiver, not quite calm.