Hinge

All that weight
hangs on a piece

of metal, flush,
matter-of-factly

against the jamb
of a bedroom

door. Once, there
was a birth,

later a death,
between clamor:

someone opens
a pair of legs

and makes love,
someone closes

a fist and fights
their whole life;

all pending
on a slender pin,

a backbone,
solemn, almost

motherly quiet,
then cries out.

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