A Narrow Exit

The set screw finally gave up the ghost,

rolling off into the shadows under the radiator.

Now, when I reach to leave the bathroom,

the brass knob rattles like a loose tooth.

It slides half an inch off the door,

revealing the silver spindle, square and blunt,

exposed like a bone in a shallow cut.

I have to grip it just right, applying

a specific, desperate pressure to make it turn.

It’s a fragile way to live, trusting

a piece of hardware that’s held together

by gravity and a lack of better options.

One day I’ll pull and it will stay in my hand,

leaving me locked in with my own reflection.