the key
by cc.tran

how dark  your locked up room -
four walls, closed door -
where you wrote your poems
read your books
gained your stay

how long
did you think you could stay?

did you see the light when it came? -
not the expected call
to death
but
unexpected

hope

did you see it
come into that room
opening the door?

reason to stay or
more reason to go

first it was your lock of hair
escaping walls
through that door
that kept you in

or
was it first
your heart brightened
that set you free?

I wrote this while musing on the life of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and wondering how it must have felt meeting Robert Browning.  What her life must have been like – or what she might have thought?