A Lock and Key Model
Here is the key to my heart that I clench between my knuckles when I’m walking down alleys at night. My heart stands alone beneath the street lamps wears a winter coat does not shake your hand. Does not give you directions. Does not give you it’s name because haven’t we all found crushed fairies at the foot of our bed and said nothing? Haven’t we all said goodnight to our dreams? Here is the key to my heart that I left in my foster carer’s door latch when I was fourteen when home was the cavity inside my chest when home was the broken space between dawn and silence. I told my carer I’d fallen and cut myself. She bemoaned my muddy jeans. Here is the key to my heart that I used to flip open the lock when my little sister was stuck in the bathroom. Here is the key to the lock. It is yours now. _______ I wrote this poem four years ago and forgot about it. I wrote the first verse again, without remembering, in the wake of Sarah