Memory at the Door
She knocks on my rib cage
seeking access to my heart again
The knock—the pounding pestle—
taunts, its echo won’t stand to be ignored
I hold my knees and cover my ears
as if that’ll keep my walls untampered
I let my flesh wrap me whole—
so tight I might suffocate,
but I cannot breathe outside this
prison, no—this haven
She’s still here at my door,
holding flowers too vibrant in color—
the amber petals too lifeless for summer
Her indifferent smile, gentle and fair,
yet brings chill to my bones exposed in June air
My teeth knock against each other
tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap—
I want to scream for her to leave
but the only voice made out
was the repeating beat of horror
She’ll eventually enter,
one way or another—
Winter takes up a room in my chest
always waiting to host her.
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