Rod McKuen, “Room”
Ceiling cracks,
dusty woodwork,
a spider’s web half started,
I know this room by heart.
I find my way
from bed to toilet
in the middle of
the darkest night.
Half asleep or wide awake
I need no map
to help me thread my way
past and in between
the obstacles that fill up full
this empty room
I’d post a letter
but I don’t know your address.
I’d call
but how would I begin
let alone maintain a conversation?
Once I’d promised to forget you
I ran backward
Making sure
that I’d remember you
for always.
The doorbell buzzes
at odd times
in the morning
or the night,
maybe all day long
if I were here
to hear it.
I never answer
since it isn’t you.
And if it were
on opening the door
I’d only open
brand new memories
that even as they happened
I’d be making resolutions
to forget.
