you walk through the door
and there’s a look on your face
rearranged since the last time i saw you,
since the last cavalier
“didn’t you get my message?” you say.
i explain the mundane inanity
of a phone forgotten at work.
“mine’s been stolen,”
you say, your voice flat and calm
as you regale me with a nightmare of doors kicked in,
and men with zipties and guns.
in my mind flash horrific scenes of
“what might have been”.
but like you, i am numb.
i look at you and see the violence reverberate.
“shhhhh…”, i say,
pulling you close.
as i hold you
i cannot help but feel imaginary bullet wounds,
i feel the holes rent by that knife.
i see one more hole ripped huge in the fragile silk
of this parachute,
i also feel the things we take for granted.
and i am grateful for another chance.