Hieroglyphics

I was standing at her door

with my fist raised but paused to knock

because I could hear her movement inside

and did not want to disturb the life within.

But after battling myself my hand

decided to hit the door and

set fate in motion.

When she answered she wore no smile

as her cat ran out

and greeted me with her whiskers.

I didn't know what I could say

when she studied me with her eyes.

My hand reached for a gift in my pocket

when she asked if I ran out of lies.

I gave her my keys

and she invited me inside.

The first thing I noticed was the red stain on her old and expensive carpet. There were no books on her shelves,

only pictures as cistern memories, her holy beads and triangle bells.

She asked if I wanted some coffee and I asked if she had any tea.

She went to the kitchen and when it was done she handed me the cup reluctantly.

She was wearing a red party dress with her long black hair covering her eyes but not her ears. Her crucifix was on the table, next to my full cup of tea and her empty cup of coffee. We looked at the clock at the same time, and when I stood to leave she told me to sit down she enjoyed my company. I hesitated when I sat, and when I did finally sit her cat jumped from behind the couch and scratched me on the lip. And when I pushed her away she bit my hand. When I decided to stand she tore at my legs and then ran. I smiled and pretended nothing happened while she rose and walked to her bedroom. The pain was so much that I cried whispers into the air hoping she would hear them but knowing she didn't want to. It was raining and I listened to the staccato symphony of beads that sounded as if they were in mourning. I listened and thought I heard nothing.

While she was in another room I took off my jacket and used it to cover the red stain on the carpet. I then noticed that her shelves of memories had not one picture of me. What does this mean? I thought as the blood pulsed in my veins and stood in her home. The black and white pictures showed old boyfriends and living relatives. "She has been loved by more than one God" I said aloud as she walked back into the room.

She had her hair tied back in a ponytail, so that her eyes and ears were left open. She also changed her clothes from the red party dress to her pink pajamas, and her crucifix, no longer on the table, hung from her neck over her heart. She held bandages in one hand and a remote control in the other. Forgetting that she had the remote, she walked to the stereo and turned it on. Not finding any music she liked, she turned it off and sighed. I suggested that she play her violin, which sat wasting but waiting in a corner. She smiled an old smile and and said she might after she bandaged my wounds.

The cat was purring next to me on her couch and the sun was coming out with her touch as I was thinking how grateful I am for having the strength to knock on her door.