Gap secrets

I shift the mattress—a quiet rebellion.

Dust motes swirl like tiny ghosts,

a scribbled phone number crumpled and pale

wedged with lint and a chewed pen cap.

The narrow dark holds forgotten messages,

a forgotten reach, a call that never came.

Crumbs catch in the fold, stick and dissolve,

a slow erosion of moments missed.

The space breathes in silence,

harbors the unwanted, the lost,

a thin crack where memory leaks,

and I stare into the hollow,

wondering what’s slipped away this time.