Poem #4 When I Was a Servant

When I was a servant
In a house from which I could not escape,
My jailer was another servant
My identical twin, as it turned out
Though I could always tell us apart.

She saw me, one day,
Wield a silver knife
Sever the cord
That connected our master’s house
To the wide world
Electric, fiber-optic, I wasn’t sure
Neither can I tell you my motive
I just knew I had to do it
The way you know what’s next.

“You will pay for this,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me.
I said, “No. I will run away.”
“Why wouldn’t I tell on you?” she said.
I shrugged. “I’m leaving everything behind.
You can have it all.
I’m even leaving my guitar.”

She knew, then, I meant business
She did not try to stop me.
She even helped.
She must have wanted that guitar,
And my bag full of twenties from all my gigs.

I stole out into the moonlit night
Circled left
To avoid the upstairs windows
And I was free.

I ran with a bunch of aging balding men
Who were all worried about not making it
Before it was time to retire.

But of course
I came back for my guitar
And some notebooks––
Everyone in the house
Assumed I was my twin.
I took my guitar out of there,
As easy as breathing.
It was my breath, as it turned out.

For the month of November, I will be writing 30 Poems as part of this wonderful challenge to support Center for New Americans. If you want to support me, please go here.