Читать книгу Strangers - Rob Taylor - Страница 13

I lie in bed, await three knocks from my parents’ side

of our adjoining wall, one each for I, love, and you—

then I reply, with one more added on for too.

And only then we sleep.

I dream I’m in an elevator: an adult, poet,

stubble-cheeked. My father dead, expectedly.

My mother married once again and happy.

My own wife in our home, expectant.

Then the elevator sticks.

I root my fingers in the door. It doesn’t give.

I press the button, panic-red, attempting to call out—

to whom? Some maintenance guy? A telecom employee

in Chennai? Speak When Illuminated

reads the sign that doesn’t light.

To myself, I realize, my mind half waking

from the dream. I am my only rescue.

I stare into the bulb to make it shine.

My wife is out there waiting; my manuscripts

and friends. My mother and my father just outside.

Yes, even him.

My waking mind insists it cannot be. He’s too old

to have lasted out these years. No, he’s just behind

the wall, I say into myself. I’ll show you now.

I knock three times upon the metal door.

Four knocks ring back.

My waking mind falls silent, yields the floor.

I am not a child anymore.