Room for Development
Sitting atop a wooden stool
In a room with a light
Hanging from a solitary string,
That's where you found me.
The light bulb was new.
The light bulb was off.
I warned you when you opened the door.
"Don't come in, you'll get stuck."
You said something about knowing the way.
I don't want to say I told you so.
There was a light switch.
It was in the off position.
You held my hand there in the dark.
I tried to support yours too.
The dance of anxiety that I did,
I think it loosened the grip.
You knew how to light the room.
Somehow we forgot that step.
Our fingers still entwined;
Your stool now matches mine.
My heart breaks as you use that hand
To turn on the light.
It shines brightly now; no shadows.
Are the pictures we took ruined?
Copyright © 2010 Natasha Guy
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