Agoraphobia

The first of a hundred sonnets I wrote in one hundred days last year as a personal challenge.

Agoraphobia

I built this house, with bricks and nails and wood,
laid down the floor on hands and knees myself,
arranged my toys and tools on every shelf,
I saw that all the doors and locks were good.

I did what men tell women that they should -
it’s rude to tell them it’s about your health -
festooned the lawn to ape success and wealth.
I tried so hard to be misunderstood.

An earthquake came, destroyed my house, my heart,
laid flat the doors without picking the locks,
and when I stood among the shattered rocks,
I finally could see their subtle art:
Teach us to fear and we will build a box,
and then forget how to survive apart.