Cutting Through the Quiet

The back gate is rusting shut

so I lift the latch with my shoulder.

The detour on Main is a gut

full of gravel and the night getting colder.

The light on my phone blinked out

right where the small stones start.

There is a silence like a shout

pressing against my heart.

A plastic pinwheel is stuck

in the mud by a name I can't read.

It doesn't move. With my luck,

it’s exactly the stillness I need.

It smells like damp cedar and gas.

My heels sink into the dirt.

I’m just a ghost trying to pass

without making the quiet feel hurt.