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.
Did you get robbed? That is the stuff about SA, the fear, that I do not miss 😦
Hope everything is alright.
L was, at work. 6 guys with guns and a butcher knife kicked in the main door and started zip-tying people’s hands. fortunately 2 women and 2 kids made it out the back door when they heard the commotion and when the guys realized that some people had got away and were probably calling the police, they left with what cell-phones they could grab.
the “what if’s” are so scary.
Freaking hell, I always thought you were safer at work. Saying that, my aunt has been held at gunpoint at her own work. I hate this shit.