Dentata

I was hidden.
Under reams and realms of sand.
Hidden.
So that it took a voyage of frustration
to find and open me

They opened me.
Dug black nails into the wood.
Rowan. Sturdy and sure
but soon bewildered with
lines of hate and scratches
that defaced my grace.

Muscles contracted over the lock
that had been given to me by God
and set in wait until that same One
gave me the right key to open it.

Strength comes in desperation, so
anvils, snares; hooks and chains
fall like feathers of a dying bird
in the hands of a starving treasure thief.

Now I’m unbolted
spread wide. With my lock broken and bleeding.
And when I close myself a second time
I won’t open again.

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