The Crack Above
Written: August 25, 2025
*********
There was a crack in the ceiling.
Above the lamp, above the silence, a crack—
thin as a vein,
but pulsing with something devious.
At night, I stared upward,
its jagged line, such a question
I couldn’t answer.
The plaster flaked as aged skin,
and dust fell in slow confession.
When she climbed the ladder,
she traced it with a fingertip,
then with pencil, then with tape—
measuring the damage
as if it might reveal a diagnosis.
She patched it gently,
not to erase, but to soothe.
Later, she painted it
the same soft ivory as before.
Not to hide it—
but to let it rest.
And now, when I look up,
I perceive nothing.
Or rather,
I perceive everything it once held.
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