DIARY
Taylor Graham
You called it your way to sanity.
Written in a script illegible as cipher,
it didn’t need a lock on the old brass box
with the cunning keyhole round as a mouth
transfixed in “no.”
What was so precious or perilous
you needed more than metaphor?
Oh, it’s been found, unlocked, deciphered.
Perhaps it was the dullness, after all:
all curves and shadows, hopes unspoken
and fears denied. Sanity, indeed,
against such a life.
