Temporary Hold

I found it in my pocket with the grit and the lint,

a silver skeleton that has forgotten its original bend.

It caught the kitchen light, a dull and metallic glint,

a piece of office wire that was never meant to mend.

I gripped the ends and pulled the loop into a line,

feeling the resistance of the steel against my thumb.

It left a small, red crescent, a temporary sign

of the way we break the things that have already gone numb.

It’s a useless, straight needle now, a silver wire

that can't hold two pages or a secret in its grip.

I keep it on the counter while the morning goes to fire,

waiting for the rest of the world to finally start to slip.