Secured

The street is quiet now. The neighbors’ lights

have all gone out. I stand in the hall

with my socks sliding on the linoleum.

I’ve already checked it twice.

I lean the weight of my shoulder

into the painted wood, feeling for the play,

the slight rattle that says the world

is still waiting to push its way in.

I turn the thumb-piece until it stops.

The thunk travels up my arm,

a heavy, iron certainty that vibrates

in the bone of my wrist.

One more time. Just to be sure the dark

is staying on its own side of the bolt.