I once believed there was a secret room

When you live in an ivied
rock of a house
and come out
only at night
to pour milk for the neighborhood cats
You’ll understand the uncanny
of the comfort of hotness
of summer air
that is suddenly interrupted
When just beyond the garden gate
you swear you see only darkness
and you’re out among thorny bushes
In a sundress; no bra; bare feet

I don’t leave my house
because I once believed
there was a secret room
in my great grandmother’s house
Situated darkly
far from the window’s peripheral
accessible through a door
built for a body rolled into a ball

And I knew
that all the jewelry was kept in this room
All old journals, all tossed attempts at art
The impossibly windowed room
was brighter than all the others in the house

Only there can I meet the stranger
that stalks my garden gate at night
Only there will I marry him

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