Unforgotten

Published in the “Blown Away” anthology at Red Wolf Journal.

I live now, in my late middle age,
in a seaside town I’ve chosen
because it is a place where I
do not lock my door.

This was not always the case.

My safety these days says nothing
about
the state of the world
the power of men
the welfare of women.

I have lived for most of my life
on the edge:
the edge of never knowing—
            which acquaintance will slip
                        something into my drink
            which casual interaction
                        will fuel an obsession
            which parking garage
                        could be my undoing
            which polite smile
                        might lock in a stalker.

For so many decades these things
were always part of me. Every
moment, every day, every year
I never thought merely of what
I was doing. I always knew
there were silhouettes detaching from
the walls, shadows that might follow me:

Now I do not lock my door. I have chosen
to live in a community of artists and gay men—
They are not concerned with me.

I have found refuge from that fear,
but I am not unaware of it. Too often
You are so beautiful turns to you
are a bitch on the dime of rejection.

These days I do not lock my door.
It doesn’t mean I don’t remember
what is was like to have three locks;
It doesn’t mean I don’t see how many
women still need that, and more.

All that is unforgotten.