a little bit of ani d...

thirty-three years go by
and not once do you come home
to find a man sitting in your bedroom
that is
a man you do not know
who came a long way to deliver one very specific message;
lock your back door, you idiot
however invincible you imagine yourself to be
you are wrong


thirty-three years go by
and you loosen the momentum of teenage nightmares
your breasts hang like a woman's
and you don't jump at shadows anymore
instead you may simply pause to admire
those that move with the grace of trees
dancing past streetlights
and you walk through your house without turning on lamps
sure of the angle from door to table
from table to staircase
sure of the number of steps
seven to the landing
two to turn right
then seven more


all of this and maybe
the swish of the soft leather of your intruder's coat
as you walk him step be step back to the door
having talked him down off the ledge of a very bad idea
soft leather, big feet, almond eyes
the kinds of details the police officer would ask for later
with his clipboard
and his pistol
in your hallway.


Ani Difranco