safe haven

the door to my room doesn’t lock, 

so I glued my palms to it to keep it shut

the soles of my feet have grown roots that thread tight to the carpet 

my loyalty to standing still is a threat still standing 

forehead pressed to wood splintered under thunderous upheaval 

chest heaving, forced breathing, hoping this grief breaks even 

though I don’t remember what this sanctuary looks like

I hope it’s beautiful. 

I hope whoever comes here after knows the blessing of a body 

untouched, ungrasped, unhandled

handed down through the false promises of the passage of time 

I hope they can leave the door open to the fresh air 

unaware 

coming and going and rising and falling 

and I swear somewhere! 

anywhere! 

I will hear the calling of my name down the hall and draw nearer

free of fear 

chest pulled open wide 

and the chill that seeps into my bones

won’t leave me petrified

the door to my room doesn’t lock,

it’s been forced open too many times 

I hear that tap-tap-pounding on the other side like an earthquake 

and there’s no open frame to stand beneath

no outside to escape to

the sun sets each night

and I feel the prickle of the fading light on the back of my neck 

but its gaze has never met mine

we remain at long last lost lovers 

uncovered, undiscovered

one breath, then another

it reminds me

tell me how the ultimate life giver-and-taker kisses the horizon 

and casts an air of new becomings over a hillside 

I’ll never tumble down in ecstasy 

lie to me. 

tell me the world outside is wonderful 

and no one kneels on the floor in penance 

tell me no one cracks open under a kind hand

that the tanned hide is not man-made

tell me no one lingers on the other side of my door

tell me the screaming of my name is just the howling of the wind

and not the roaring of a face that says it loves me 

tell me the life that passes me by will 

hear the melodies I sing to mask the terror of the nighttime

and miss me when I’m gone 

tell me no one will get in. 

lie to me. 

the door to my room doesn’t lock,

but no one knows that

please take that secret back to your house

so it knows the comfort of a good night’s sleep

leave the door open

and return it to me unharmed

I think I’m okay for a moment.

then hands on the rattling handle

raised voices bolstered by poison  

we all have choices

and my blood runs red 

no bruises 

zero proof

I’m all sole, bare feet 

old clothes, fresh meat 

old wounds, discreet 

old bed, clean sheets 

and no one with eyes I recognize is ever ever 

ever! 

getting in. 

one day someone new will slip through the gap between 

the door and the frame 

and come face to face with my remains 

crouched down on the floor

vines twisting up my ankles 

ask what happened to me and my ribs will whisper back 

“I’m glad you’re here.”

the hollow clock between my ears chimes the changing of the guard 

if it’s not too much trouble, 

please take my body to the top of a grassy hill

open its eyes to the purple that tattoos a blending of

day and night across the burgeoning stars

fresh scars

and push it down to the bottom 

when it’s finally still again

pretend the skin is flush with childlike wonder 

and the arms are splayed out wide to take in every possibility 

pretend I didn't wait too long to start living. 

lie to me. 

10/1/24 11:16am