I forgot my keys.
I opened the unlocked porch door.
..."Knock, knock, knock".
Unheard.
The world behind the door was filled
With ranting and yelling louder than my knock.
I pounded some more, this time on the glass window.
Harder and harder and harder to drown out their noise.
Still the world behind the door had no ears.

I saw the blood running down my hand...
Dripping onto the cold concrete.
Saw the shards of glass still stuck in my raw fist.

I cried; it hurt; I was scared. Scared that my hand
Might become as limp as the dead oak across the street.
I sat there with silent hands among the pieces of glass.
Crying, afraid, alone... at least it had stopped their noise.

To this day I still wear the white scars of their battle.

SHELLS

I made a trip to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida
When I was recovering from a serious illness.
One morning the beach was covered with coral and shells
That a rough surf and high tide had washed ashore.

Being "the great shell hunter", I rummaged through
The shells with care and experienced hands.
I made a wonderful and rousing discovery.
Underneath the heavy coral and larger shells,
Were tiny, miniature versions of some of the same
ones I had already collected.

I wondered how the tiny shells had remained whole
After being repeatedly hit by the waves, by the coral
And by the larger shells.
What was it about their structure that made them so
Resilient?

How had they survived the rough surf that had thrown
Them repeatedly at each other and at the shore?
Here they were before me; tiny moonshells and periwinkles
Unbroken, intact and whole.
How did these shells still look so untouched when
Taken from the beach to my room?

How do some of us appear well when our bodies
Have taken such a beating?
What makes some people more resilient than others?

I don't have the answers to these questions,
But I think somehow they are related.