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. 



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