Compound Interest
by Sara
· 29/04/2026
Published 29/04/2026 08:35
The pickle jar lid wouldn't budge an inch
so I leaned in with the weight of my shoulder.
That’s when I saw the thumb joint flinch
and the knuckle look suddenly forty years older.
It’s his hand. The same hitch in the bone,
the same stubborn refusal to open or bend.
I didn't just get his temper or his tone;
I got the way his mechanics start to end.
Under the bed, the shoebox is full of the rest:
invoices yellowed and brittle with his name.
I’m paying for a heart that failed the test
with a body that’s learning to fail the same.