you know how it is with the room
the door is frequently locked

as i pass a white sigh
is pushed out from under
as i bend to retrieve it
the wood quivers with a woman's breath
there is a ruffle of crying

through the keyhole i am able
to glimpse a red dress
clawing fingers
then an eye seems to be clambering
towards me over the hard lock

all the time someone is calling my name

sometimes the door is open
i have been inside

there are chairs a table
curtains where you'd expect them to be
the sun on a ladder outside
shining the windows

there is nothing to hide
signs of living but no one is there
just an ordinary room

i prefer it i think
with the door closed