The Stubborn Hinge

The closet door groans

with a rusty voice—

a slow, aching screech

like the sound of promises

left to rot.

It holds the weight of a silence

thick with unfinished sentences,

a secret hinge bent out of shape,

straining beneath words that slammed shut,

shattering the thin quiet.

Every open, every close,

a small surrender,

a fracture singing sharp against wood,

like a wound peeling back

without healing.

I stand watching it falter,

a stubborn joint refusing

to let go,

waiting for something

I’m not sure will come back.