[Image from getthefive.com]
[Inspired by The Oh Hellos “Pale White Horse”:]
The door was open, this one
(not the other, the one that should have
remained shut, locked, hidden
under tangled, thorny vines of past,
of history and due silence).
She was frozen, undecided; terrified
by the chips of paint and wood scattered
by her feet, snow melting from her boots,
pooling around her shadow and crawling
across the soiled floor boards of the corridor,
seeping in between the cracks to blend
with dust and dirt of tenants previous.
The keys shook in her hands, still outstretched,
now clawed and trembling
with the choice to make:
a phone call or step forward?
She wished they would stay quiet:
she wasn’t alone?
Only last week she would have called
him; only last week
no door would be open, no darkness
taunting from beyond the yawning gap.
Now, she was alone, yet might not
be alone. One moment to decide.
She imagined him,
hand on her shoulder, restraining
curiosity and false bravery;
the stupidity of what she was about to do.
Didn’t need a hand, his love
had always been sufficient.
But her shoulder felt no such touch,
her heart mourned those fingers,
her mind craved
this punishment she believed due her.
Swallowing, she stepped
into the waiting shadows.
The door closed with a click.
[Copyright © N R Nolan 2015]