As I lacked the keys
and unspoken passwords
manners and intrinsic tropes provided
to those born oblivious within their walls,
I have never understood
how life works—
There was always
too much
that would not find its pattern,
too much
that had been broken and scattered
like ancient mosaics,
once Roman floors,
no longer conformed
to forgotten wars.
I was rarely satisfied
with what I knew,
as if the next glance,
the next book,
the next conversation—
might reveal it all.
For decades now,
I’ve stood outside
with one ear pressed
against a door
listening
for the right key
to slip the lock ;
for the hidden tumblers
to fall;
for the right door
to admit us all.
(June 14, 2026)
subtext 