• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 12
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Key of E

We called it “the key of E”,
hung it carefully behind the wooden gate.
Running home from music lessons,
your slim seven-year-old wrist
stretched behind the faded planks
above the lilac bush,
and grasped your freedom.

Late-night teenaged arms
would reach above the frame
to noisily fumble the familiar padlock,
while we listened and knew
you were home.

Until the days and nights
we huddled in silence
and screamed inside
your aching absence.
You slipped
our suburban bonds.
Unlatched yourself,
unfastened us.


Key of E

Each day I check
the key waits faithfully,
hanging upon your casual return.
Hungrily inspect its unscratched rust,
yearning for the marks
that say you are not undone.

Keep warm Edward, don’t let yourself get cold.