Stuck Mid-Twist

The metal arm blocks the path,

a frozen second pressed cold beneath flickering bulbs.

Behind me, the line shifts—breath warm, impatient,

close enough to catch the scent of wet coats and spilled coffee.

Card reader blinking red,

a heartbeat stutter I can’t ignore.

I grip the rail, feel the scrape of rust and chill,

a half-step caught between here and somewhere else.

The world waits,

somewhere beyond the frozen gate,

while I linger in the pause,

holding breath, holding space,

half-turned.

Not quite moving on,

not quite turning back.