Open
Star-kissed eyelids, fingertips
chipped with flecks of violet,
hands shaking, paper cuts,
mastering silence, the door
is shut
Remember winter, Madonna’s
Immaculate Collection album,
Megaman III, a false sense of
innocent security, introspection,
praying for snow, checking,
eyes beckoning, the door is
still closed
A cobwebbed corner, worrying,
thinking you hear creatures
scurrying, holding breath,
fearing death, visualizing that
last glance back, realizing, in
terror, the door has opened
a crack
The coolness of sheets, the weight of
screams, an electric neck, a collision
of planets somewhere, a stomach full
of youthful doubt, a locked closet
with no way out, a stellar cosmic fire
Down to the wire,
don’t look now,
the door is
no longer there
November 11, 2017
Thistle Thoughts 