childplay

By The Poet Spiel

       you learn to touch the knob with your eyes closed
so you may believe it cannot hurt you—twisting it silently—
like you are not touching it at all

       you learn to release the latch
by pressing your small body against such a heavy door—delicately—
so the hinges will not groan like he makes them groan

       you learn to shift your tiny feet whisperlike—
the way you imagine an angel might shift its wings—
as if your feet never touch the floor

while he is in his deepest sleep
you learn to become as invisible
as a grass snake escaping the garden—
so you may play in the dark

       you eventually learn—
even in sunlight—
not to cast a shadow

       —but before all this
you had to learn
not to scream