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“Soul Trained”

Most afternoons, 

the place held its usual quiet,

the kind that settles 

when you’re the one

turning the lock from the inside.

You’d drop your bag by the heater,

let the screen take up its post,

steady voice filling the room

like a light left on for whoever needed it.

He’d close the show 

the same way every time—

a line shaped to meet you at the frame,

marking the edge of the room

without pushing you through it.

And as always in parting, 

we wish you love, peace, and soul.

That was the moment—

the house paused, waiting

to see which way you’d go.

Then the click as the set went dark,

the room folding back 

into its usual shape.

You’d step out,

down the narrow stairwell 

that carried

every footfall 

from the building,

its railing cool under your hand,

evening air rising to meet you

as you pushed through 

the side gate—the metal giving 

a short, tired rattle as it

settled back into place.

.