The Door I Should Have Opened

 That room you used to wait in, I walk by,

its quiet as thick with accumulated dust and age.

There the door I should have opened is shut tight.

Your letters were turning yellow in the drawer at night,

each word a bell I was never going to hear you ring—

I walk past the room where you waited.

The rusty key is heavy on its rust;

a pendulum with which to note my coward’s act.

The door I ought to open remains locked and bolted.

The wrong I'm doing; next step, tomorrow.

the hours of my life I've devoted to practicing pantomime.

I walk by the room where you sat.

Your melody has sunk in shadow-light,

but still it sings across distance and dirt.

The door I should have opened remains shut tight.

What ghost is sitting there in the growing dusk?

Which one of the questions insults beyond its last rhyme?

I go by the door where you used to sit—

the door I was supposed to open remains bolted shut.