The room


you know how it is with the room
The door is frequently locked

As i pass a white sigh
Is pushed out from under
As i bend to retrieve it
The wood quivers with a woman’s breath
There is a ruffle of crying

Through the keyhole i am able
To glimpse a red dress
Clawing fingers
Then an eye seems to be clambering
Towards me over the hard lock

All the time someone is calling my name

Sometimes the door is open
I have been inside

There are chairs a table
Curtains where you’d expect them to be
The sun on a ladder outside
Shining the windows

There is nothing to hide
Signs of living but no one is there
Just an ordinary room

I prefer it i think
With the door closed


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The room