where’s the locksmith?

Scuff that sounded like
something was moving toward me
turning around,
preparing to go away

Breaths held
seconds dragging ever so slowly

Knocks on the door, soft at first,
then louder
becoming firmer as though
they belonged here
and deserved to be let in

(They may have
lifetimes ago)

I remembered something
and kicked myself in the bum
for not changing
the locks


© annie scribes 2017
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