The Door by Julia Copus

Here is a door. You know that
I am behind it for no other

reason that you saw
me enter it, for you

will never be still
long enough to hear

the banging of my chest,
the voiceless fear that,

once inside, has nowhere
else to go. And if

the door has a lock
what then? For no lock

exists that cannot be
forced as you never

tire of reminding me.
Come for me, then, and tower

over me, let me
cower in your shadow,

put out the light,
for when I am no more

than a silhouette, backlit,
others will come tendering

rewards for my story.
And then I shall speak

but with an actor's voice,
going over every detail

slowly, in the wrong dialect.



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