ON FINDING THE MOSTLY CLOSE DOOR

SONYA FEHER

I wanted access. You
sleeping in the guest room
that month. Our clumsy conversation
when we spoke at all.

Maybe I’d meet you
in the shower and push
closer. Maybe
I would open my mouth.

I fingered the door, eavesdropping
until the hinge slipped and I found
you, outside the curtain,
your back turned, even then.

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