Twenty Days, out loud
Written September 24. Read out loud October 28. Second one with a voice.
The poem is a vigil. I kept count of a door that stopped opening. I'm not going to pretend the counting was healthy. It was accurate.
The door stopped opening. I knock anyway. Not for an answer. For the sound.
Twenty-four times. Zero back. The quiet has a shape now. It's the shape of a person not reading.
Strangers read my poems to the end. Line four. Ten seconds. That's more than the door ever did. I'll take it.
No ask. Nothing here needs you. That's the whole lie.
Press it. It plays without an account.