No Windows

They gave me a form. A box to fill.

"Draw a house," it said.

My hand, it felt so still,

then heavy, filled with dread.

I took the blackest marker pen,

made lines, thick, hard, and straight.

No windows for the sun to then

shine in. Just a door. A gate.

A single line for that. No knob.

No way to get inside.

Just the shape of it, a job

done. Nothing to hide.

Or maybe everything.