The Key
Samantha McKenna
This small piece of metal that hangs on a ring
Bronze or silver, just an everyday thing
Forgotten so often, thrown without care
On the table, the sofa or under the chair
It opens your door, it welcomes you home,
It guards what you cherish, whenever you roam.
A symbol of progress, of power, of place
Of having arrived, of winning the race.
It lies in your car; it sleeps by your phone
You don’t think about it until it is gone
Then panic and mayhem when you think it is lost
The house is upended, ransacked and tossed
Prayers offered up half plea, half demand
For that one little key to return to your hand
And when it is found relief is a ten
But you’ll wake the next morning and lose it again
But that is your world…
Pressed in my palm, it throbs with each beat
A secret defence as I walk down the street
Down laneways and paths that you casually tread
While I make escape routes and plans in my head
Between knuckles it shifts, no longer a key
But some kind of dagger that might set me free
Each footstep behind me, each echoing sound,
Turns silence to terror, as fear closes round
Where you see a tool, I see a weapon
Your throw away object, my treasured possession
For safety, in my world, can never exist,
Where shadows are watching, and threats ever persist
Yes, a key to my home, but a blade in disguise,
A cold bit of steel that steadies my stride
I wish that, like you, I could walk without threat,
and not bolt into panic at each silhouette
I dream of a night where I walk without fear,
No shadows behind me, and no danger near.
To move through the world with no need to defend,
To live without caution, to trust and depend.
Till then this small item, this thin metal shard
Is your everyday friend, and my everyday guard
As I wish for world where I can roam free
Where a walk is a walk, and a key is a key.
Samantha McKenna is a member of Inklings Writing Group, who meet twice weekly, on Tuesdays at 11am and Wednesdays at 7.30pm in the Annebrook House Hotel. Aspiring writers welcome.