Too late?

Have you ever shut a door so rough

that it broke something? Like a precious heart

or a sacred silence; and once cut off,

once shut the echo of it slamming tells 

the deed, and cannot hide in any sound

or quiet coming after. Yes, I have,

and I can't stop hearing the glass breaking

like sobs, shattering apart and falling

like tears to the ground. Like rain on

wet grass. It stained me, that awful sound 

and stuck inside my guilty chest, and I

can't ever open up that door again,

and if I could, that wouldn't stop echoes 

or the pain in my arm, where I clenched 

my fist tightly, or the pain in my chest 

where I felt my heart, clenching tightly,

and I don't think it's unclenched, and I don't

know if it will, or if it can, or if

it should. And I'm afraid to touch that door

and panic at the thought of peering in;

yes, I have, and I've looked for so long

at the little window, and choked and cried

because it is shut and I slammed it shut

when I slammed that door. God help me,

I slammed that door, before I knew it

had to be shut, before I knew I'd want

it open again.