The Lock
By Betsy Wexler
Inspiration piece

The key slides in easily
Not a single second of resistance
Fits perfectly.
And then
I try to turn it
It’s so quiet, I’m sure I’ll be able to hear
all of the little pins fall into place.
It won’t turn.
Stuck.
I pull the key out
The slide it back in
I don’t want to believe it
I want so much to open this door
So I turn it just a little bit harder
As if it needs to be convinced. Romanced, perhaps.
I let out a heavy sigh of frustration.
I try harder, putting some elbow grease into it
And suddenly
Without warning
The top of the key that I’m squeezing between my fingers
Trying so hard to turn
Breaks off from the part that is in the lock.
Oh NO.
I stand in the hallway with half a key in my hand.
It’s hopeless, I think. Now I’ll never get in.
Tears start to well up in my eyes
And then
Without thinking
As if divinely guided
I reach out to the doorknob
And turn.
The door opens.
It was unlocked all the time.

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