February 16, 1981
Why won’t she let me in?
The old woman shivers inside her door,
Her gnarled hands firmly on the lock,
Shaking her head resolutely.
Around me a cold rain—thunder murmurs impersonally
Along this desolate, leafy road.
When I so much need for her to let me in
Talk to me
Is she keeping those old hands on the lock?
Does she fear me,
I tense up.
I turn, walk stiffly down her overgrown path,
Refusing to let her see the bitter anger
Squeezing from my eyelids.
I proudly swing open my car door,
Feeling her eyes piercing my back.
I smoothly get inside,
Turn on the engine