‘Hold out your hands,’ she says
and places the silver key on my palms,
it fits across both perfectly. ‘It can
open any door you choose, anywhere.
Keep it close, always.’
So I swallow the key. Safe in my belly
it stays, and safe from my memory
until every door I face
declares it’s locked.
It can’t be. It can’t be.
The memory stirs and I try to regurgitate.
It doesn’t work, and the doors laugh.
From inside me, the key calls out.
Unlock.
The doors are silenced by my voice.
I swallowed the key
and became it.
Treeshallow Musings 