The paving under her feet
jagged and rocky;
the air, October thickening;
the background, briefly fogged in;
the foreground, uninviting.
The leaves chanted and stopped,
chanted and stopped
their haunts and howls.
The brass knob twisted
in her sweaty palm.
Her wrist turned it;
her grip held on.
The door opened
to a suffocating lobby.
The smell of dirt seeped
through the creaky boards
beneath her.
The open door led to more
closed doors.
She reached down
between her breasts,
where one metal key hid,
warm and protected.
It was the third door on the left;
black paint splintering
revealing a warm chestnut.
She opened the door
to her empty room,
sat the blank pages down
and opened the window.
