still checking
“maybe it's not the room.
maybe it never was.
the room is the same room
but it doesn't feel like it
and i keep checking the locks
like that's the thing that's broken
front door. back door.
my own pulse, counted twice.
one two three.
still mine, i think.
breath, still moving.
in, out.
still working.
still not enough.
face in the mirror, still mine.
same eyes.
waiting for them to explain something.
they don't.
none of it's broken.
that's the trouble.
every lock checks out.
every lock holds.
and still i stand in the doorway of myself,
certain something got in
before i started counting.
i don't know what is wrong.
i just know it's wrong,
the way you know a word is misspelled
before you can say which letter.
maybe that's the whole poem.
maybe that's the whole me.
still checking.
still not finding it.
still here.”