Tears
are always knocking on the door of
my sweet, sun-filled study
in which I find nothing to do
but make busy-work of
pretending I can see with both eyes.
The knock
is that of a relative,
the kind that startles you
the kind that scares you even though
you know who's there,
you just don't know their temper
you just don't know the
urgency of the situation
and after you remember who's
coming in
your gut tells you to turn off the lights and
say you're asleep.
In this situation
there is always a key under
the door
between the outside and the inside
between the blue and the yellow
a flood lets itself in
and my hands become water
and I wash my face
mixing the inside and the outside
mixing the yellow and the blue
because they're the same anyway.
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 12:30 AM UTC
Tears
are always knocking on the door of
my sweet, sun-filled study
in which I find nothing to do
but make busy-work of
pretending I can see with both eyes.
The knock
is that of a relative,
the kind that startles you
the kind that scares you even though
you know who's there,
you just don't know their temper
you just don't know the
urgency of the situation
and after you remember who's
coming in
your gut tells you to turn off the lights and
say you're asleep.
In this situation
there is always a key under
the door
between the outside and the inside
between the blue and the yellow
a flood lets itself in
and my hands become water
and I wash my face
mixing the inside and the outside
mixing the yellow and the blue
because they're the same anyway.
