Wall

Your heart is a wall on which I knocked
looking for a door, a latch
a windowsill, a flowerpot

Everything I brought to the wall dried up
and blew away for lack of answer:
tulip bulbs, my worry for you, some children

Sometimes I pounded it with my fists
smashed my forehead on it
blamed myself for not having the passcode
hated myself
hated hating myself—started over
willed patience, got advice
cried in a heap against its brick
without getting a stir
so many night-after-nights

It’s a wall.
There is no way in.

Now that I’ve made the choice to leave
your heart suddenly has a gate
You fling it open for the first time
but I’m gone