Knocking

by Anne Kopec

Rain patters down
As I sit, quietly,
Alone,
On the floor,
Watching the television
Admiring the actors
And actresses
And listening
To the soft knocking
On the closet door.

I turn off the TV
But it's
Gone.
Like it was
Never there.
Not at all.
I sit
Listening,
Waiting
For the knocking
On the closet door.

Nothing.
Just pouring rain
Pattering on the roof.
I hear nothing.
Am I deaf?
No, I can't be;
I can hear the rain.
I think I'm going
Mad.
I turn on the television again
Feeling at bliss
And listening
To the soft knocking
On the closet door.

I panic,
Again,
I turn the TV off.
It continues,
Slowly turning into
Pounding
And screaming.
I go
Quickly
To the closet door
Opening it.
The voice
And the pounding
Disappears.
The closet is
Empty.
I can't pull myself
Back together
After hearing
The knocking
On the closet door.

I lie on the couch.
I pull a blanket
Closer to my neck
And close my eyes.
All I hear is
Silence.
Nothing but
The rain
Falling onto
The roof shingles
And the gentle knocking
The quiet voices
Coming from
The closet door.

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