Julie Brooks Barbour
I HAVE A HABIT OF CHANGING MY ADDRESS SO NO ONE CAN FIND ME
Not wanting to put myself in the way
of anger or sorrow, I close another door
on the world. Every day I shut out words,
faces, and bright florescent lights.
Behind these doors is a hole. It's dark
and mine but it's a catch-all—it sees
everything, hears every voice.
It can't speak—no lips or tongue, only teeth,
which it hasn't used. In the center
of the hole, a throbbing that does not
bleed or weep—an ache
without infection, protected by doors.
No one gets in, but anyone can listen
and hear nothing. I keep this place
so silent you'll never know I've gone.