My neighbor leaves her door wide open to the street

My neighbor leaves her door wide open to the street

while she goes for milk or bread or cigarettes.

She doesn't think about the shadows or the heat

creeping through the screen like uncollected debts.

In my house, we slid the brass bolt home at noon.

The chain stayed tight across the heavy wood.

You didn't trust the sun or the rising of the moon;

locking up was just another way of being good.

Now I stand in her hallway, feeling the draft,

listening for the click that never actually comes.

I touch the deadbolt three times, a familiar craft,

until the metal bites back and my finger goes numb.