“Keys,” A Poem by Ahmad Almallah

I’ve been
thinking
of keys—
clearly:

the hand holding
them close to the lock—
nothing turning
turning

just a snapshot,
reflections, fingers
reaching for the thing
in the mirror
and not the thing

and that day
when I couldn’t open
up: and the door was just
a door

not a barrier

it was locked
and I was cold, tired, and
_________________________out:

my
fingers freeing and freezing
but caught

and I couldn’t hold or find—
my
_____way I wondered
about what happened to the dot
dot dot

in poetry

_____why doesn’t anyone like
them anymore
and what’s wrong
with the cut
and incomplete

____________________________

border wisdom