Seventeen

Donald W. Baker

Without leaving the room
you leave us. You dazzle
at windows, or the phone
rings. Once we tried you

for learning, questioned
your gestures, measured
your heart's pace. Now,
when the clocks go crazy

and pages turn themselves,
the lift of your shoulder
chills us, we dread those
retributions in the dark.

Daughter, forgive us your
trespasses, deny us your
wish: unlock the old door,
interrupt death again.