What Won't Hold

The wedge keeps slipping.

I jam it through the handle,

force the wood against the mechanism,

and for maybe three minutes

the gate stays shut.

Then it creeps.

The latch gives a little.

The wood settles and slides

like something learning

it doesn't have to work this hard.

I could replace it.

I know where to go,

what to ask for,

how much it would cost.

Instead I keep wedging.

Keep driving the same piece of wood

through the same handle

and waiting for it to hold

the way it's supposed to.

The gate hangs there,

not quite latched,

not quite open,

caught between two decisions.

It's been like this for two days.

I check it before bed.

I check it in the morning.

I walk past and feel something

small and useless rise in my chest.

There's no storm coming.

There's no reason

the gate needs to be locked.

But I want it to be,

and it won't,

and I keep trying,

and it keeps failing,

and somewhere in that repetition

I'm learning something

I don't want to know.