Tonight's Poet Corner: Don't Go Downstairs

Don't Go Downstairs
by Belinda Roddie

There are stories from last year that
I keep locked in a chest, tucked away
in the basement where I keep all the bones
of my temper tantrums, dusted over with
time and shrouded in a veil that's thin enough
to suspend my past dreams in mid-air. I'd
share some of those sagas with you, but
to do so would be equivalent to subjecting
my body to the smiling teeth of a thousand
blades, and I'd rather not endure an emotional
pain that could rival the visceral agony
of a torture chamber. My compulsions have
worsened over the past few months, and should
I let you downstairs, don't be surprised if
you find the door locked behind you, the key
slipped into the same drawer over and over
and over again. Let me remain privately
psychotic; let me maintain the persona of
a calm individual, a mentor who can teach
what they themselves never learned, a
practitioner of a religion in which God never
wanted us included in the narrative in the first place.