Sometimes It’s Like That

 I saw... my own figure... coming toward me, 

            Goethe, Poetry and Truth

 I stand on her porch,

try the doorbell, knock,

walk down the driveway,

check the back door,

jiggle the knob,

shield my eyes,

put my face to the glass.

She pretends not to see me,

waits for me to leave.

What does she fear?

I’m here to convert her?

 I’m running for office?

My house is on fire?

I really need her?

Sometimes it’s like that,

outside myself

trying to get back in.