Opening the door

The door’s locked against me

Or maybe it just sticks

as if it wants to guard against entry.

Put some muscle in it and I’m popping the lock

Or the block

Each piece of furniture

something I took in after others had abandoned it

maybe I can make something of it

Each piece of furniture

carries its own damage

occupies its own space

Even the two that match refuse to sit

together

It’s not all about measuring lengths and widths

The TV stand where something red spilled

a reminder without memory

The dirty, scarred file cabinet

where I store all the sorrows that took my tears

I’m empty of tears now

but I can’t have my sorrows staring me in my face

One day I might fill myself enough to face them again

This space that should be mine is not my space

Is it a room or a storage place?

Or a reminder? A cliché?

Of how none of the pieces of me fit

Together

Of how nothing that is mine is sacred

How others feel free to carve scars, spill pain on what should be mine

Because I allow it

Healing gestures

When they leave they can renew their lives

Exchanging my gift with reminders

Of how I don’t fit in here

In this space that should be mine

The heat never reaches full potential

And being a hot blooded woman

I need this space to generate full heat

The blind is broken

A reality with weight for a girl traumatized by nakedness and open windows

Another story waiting to be told

Meanwhile

The blind is broken because

When it was Randy’s room

He jury rigged the window lock to slip out and in without my knowing

I had not expected his gratitude

for what I did for him

that was for love

I was surprised by his anger, his resentment

What did I do but love?

I sent him away with all I could afford

a bus ticket and no fond farewell

caring would have cost too much

He left me questions and a broken blind

More than the blind was broken

Maybe there’s a reason, after all these years, that I don’t repair it

so that it can easily close again

The blind is broken but

I’ve built a mountain of papers

Making it hard to find whatever I need

Making the space useless

But never again will someone I trusted

Betray me by stealing what I left where just anybody could see it

If I can’t find what’s important to me

Neither can you

This space is not my space

Not the refuge I sought

for gathering thoughts

crafting words

This space is a fort,

a last resort

Where I might survive the siege

If I push, I’ll see

The door’s not really locked

I just have to put a little muscle into it