Fastener

The library was so quiet I could hear the dust.

I reached down to fix the strap on my shoe,

and the rip of the velcro was a gunshot,

a jagged sound that split the room in two.

Everyone looked up from their heavy books.

I stared at the tiny plastic hooks, all gray,

clogged with hair and bits of old sweater lint,

holding my foot in a desperate, cheap way.

It’s an ugly sound, like a secret being torn.

It doesn't click or slide; it just gives up.

I sat there with my face burning hot,

holding my breath like water in a cup.