Afraid she's fallen or had a stroke
when she doesn't answer my knock,
I have the nurse unlock her door,
ignoring with a daughter's disdain
the clearly written post-it -
"Do Not Disturb"
in her school-teacher hand -
stuck above the knob,
and can only laugh
with surprise and a kind of
relief and delight
to see two bare bodies
half rise on the bed,
as I step in.

"Sorry! - " I back out fast.
Who gave me the right
to breach a shut door?
What made me sure
age had smothered that flame?