4 AM Grind

The quiet tore itself in half.

Four AM. Not even a hint

of light. Then that long, drawn-out groan,

metal on metal, a shuddering hint

of morning, but not for me, alone

in my bed.

It was the neighbor's door, a slow

rumble up its track, a grind,

until it hung, then the heavy, low

clunk, leaving the stillness behind,

dented, ruined. I just lay there,

waiting for it to mend.