Rust and Residue

I found it tangled in the weeds—

a chain from years ago,

rust flakes crumbling down like dead skin

on cracked concrete.

The orange dust smeared my palm,

a slow bruise spreading through my fingers,

a stain no water can scrub out.

It’s heavy, the weight of it,

the way metal softens into decay,

something once strong now forgetting itself,

dusting away without sound.

The chain still remembers its stretch,

but every link is brittle,

ready to fall apart under the lightest pull,

a quiet surrender to time and neglect,

all the residue left behind.