You are picking pins from pants pockets
and lifting them to strange doors, strange windows.
You are jimmying locks that do, or don’t, or did exist
and find the people inside for the first time
dead. Having died, they lie quiet on their beds
with the sheets pulled up to their faces.
You know them, or you don’t, or you did
and you can’t understand
why you can’t remember
which it is.
Grayson Ruyak is an undergraduate at the University of La Verne, studying creative writing and Japanese. Reading and writing have been pivotal to his life for as long as he can remember, and he hopes that through his poetry, readers will be able to find a sense of connection, honesty, and heart.
Eunoia Review 