Again – by Cathy Atkinson

My fingers contain memory that my brain does not
They remember the letters and words
The periods, commas, semi-colons, spaces
The numbers and signs
The weight of emotion
The nuance of feeling

You visited me early this morning
You haven’t even knocked on my door until now
This time you didn’t knock
You were just there
Using me again
Moving in on me
You didn’t ask entrance
You were just there
It was like my fingers remembering
Your harshness and totalitarianism
Your pretty words punctuating
Your ugliness
Your assumption of assent
Your territorial right instinct

You Came In
Without Knocking

At your entrance
My senses remembered
Like my fingers remember
My body recalled the invasion
And memory pushed up on my mind
Like keys of my typewriter
Push back on my fingers
Enabling me to remember

Cathy Atkinson