Standard Units

The hallway is wider than I remember it being.

I’m pulling the yellow tongue out of the case,

trying to verify what my eyes are seeing,

and map out the gaps in this echoing space.

I wanted to see if the shelf would fit there,

but the metal snapped back with a sharp, wicked sound.

It stung my finger and hissed through the air,

leaving me standing on shaky ground.

It’s vibrating now against the old pine,

a thin, tinny rattle in a room far too large.

I’m looking for a number or a visible line

to show me the size of the grief in my charge.