Oquossoc
       

A locked door is a sign of distrust so the bolt and latch are removed.
  Other signs:
how I lie awake imaging a cabal of men assembling at the driveway's
  end, or a flock
of grackles forming overhead to sell me out, come in, come in. There
  is nothing to stop you.

Birds and their truth, If there is nothing to fear then why my unease
  with the two
deer feeding on the sumac in the side yard, who seem happier than
  we? No doubt,
call the grackles, so I shoo them off with a metal spoon and pot. We
  smell the smoke
of a cigarette in the woods, which is troublesome because we are
  alone, and not smoking.

That will come. So too will knowing the only times we are meant to
  see others
is in passing cars or a trip to the grocer. Signs they are there: small
  rocks kicked up
from wheels, bushels of blackberries picked by some hand, chalked
  letters confirming local.

We are to be wary of anything foreign but not to show it. If a voice
  slips through
the open door it is that of a friend we have not made yet. If a hand
  finds its way
into our life, we are to shake it, wrap it in ours and keep it close. If
  it should come
to rest on the tip of my hip in the night, I should say welcome,
  welcome. Make yourself at home.

Tweet
Copyright © 2012 Sara Gelston All rights reserved
from Cutbank
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission