Page 81 of Lennox Lane

Not easy.

Not safe all at once.

But possible.

And for a woman like me,

possible is no small thing.

Possible is a window opening

in a room you thought

only had walls.

Possible is being held

and not reaching for the exit.

Possible is telling the truth

and watching somebody get angry

with you instead of tired of you.

Possible is breakfast after a sincere apology.

A quarterly donation

with boundary issues.

A dinner table

that smells like lavender.

A poem called Unencrypted

from a man who’s spent his whole life

speaking in code.

So here’s mine.

Unrehearsed.

Unpolished.

Unarmored.

I don’t know

what we’re becoming.

I only know

that tonight,

under these lights,