The Lock

Everyone's away and I'm here

checking the deadbolt out of fear

like I'm still sixteen years old.

The darkness makes me cold.

I turn the lock. It catches.

I turn it again. My latches

on reality are thin.

The house settles. Within

the walls, something shifts.

My hand goes to the drifts

of doubt. The bolt again.

Back door. Front door. Then

the windows. Always more

checking. The score

of security is never high

enough. I can't deny

that my body remembers

being small. The embers

of old terror burn

in my chest. I turn

the lock one more time.

It's secure. But I'm

not convinced. My body

won't sleep. Nobody

can protect you.

So I'll check through

the night. The light

stays on. The sight

of the deadbolt

won't let me bolt

toward sleep.