Dust and Lines

White dust coats my fingers raw,

scribbles fading on cracked concrete’s jaw.

Kids laugh, their colors bright and bold,

their chalked names written, then retold.

I try to write but words fall thin,

a broken sentence trapped within.

Lines erase beneath worn soles,

like quiet stories no one holds.

The cracked chalk breaks between my hands,

a brittle hope that barely stands.

Dust in air, dust on skin,

chalk dust thick as where I’ve been.