a windowless room with seventeen open doors

clamping meager hands
onto the piano bench
she trembled 
to standing, begging 
her feet to grant her 
just one meter forward.  

​obliging her request, 
they trod 
to the nearly-closed oak panel. 
her spindly fingers 
coaxed the door 

open 
and she slipped 
through the crack. 
two meters, 
then her feet permitted yet another. 
"don't,"

a deep voice bellowed. 
at first a whisper, then audible, 
she rasped, 
"yesterday's gone." 

though even as she spoke 
claws etched 
moments alive 
on her mercurial helix 
- the curse 
of potent reminiscence. 

her feet brought her 
over the door jam 
onto the grassy lawn 
with "don't" 
a cadence in her wake. 

despite her words 
she knew 
their shared hours of sameness 
would never 
lose permanence.

---