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 ignorance 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.