Iron Keys

You have to know it burns. Like trailing a torch

Across the grass, spreading like fire under the green.

You have to know it burns.

Every morning, one of them unlocks the cell.

They walk in, balancing the carafe of water,

Bread, fruit, and a small pot of cheese. These go to the left,

On the shelf under the window.

Every evening, one of them locks the cell.

They sing at night, responding to each other.

I didn't burn down the entire country. I watch the sunset,

Sometimes pretending to be the sun.

Every morning, one of them unlocks the cell.

They offer me a reading, knowing I don't speak

Their language. It was so beautiful, the shimmer I saw first.

I didn't remember my keys.

Every evening, one of them locks the cell.

They speak my language at twilight. They ask

If I understand eternity. If I wanted to hurt them, if this

Was what I wanted? Forever.

Every morning, one of them unlocks the cell.

I hold my iron keyring tight to my stomach.

Today, paradise and prison are still the same.

So, there's got to be something wrong with me that makes me think of prisons rather than escape when faced with this picture. But, really...does this look like escape? 

-- Chrissa