Resting Beneath the Slats

I walked away from the rail tracks and stepped back inside the front door as night settled. In the quiet guest room, a low wooden bed frame stood resting against the far wall. I dropped onto my knees and slipped into the cool, dark space beneath the box spring. Thick dust motes hung undisturbed in the shadows. Instead of seeking sound, I tucked my heavy arms against my ribs and let my back sink into the flat, unmoving floorboards. The pine slats overhead boxed out the world, absorbing every lingering thrum from the day until total stillness enclosed me.