The Key Keeper

She stoops
And picks up
A small, brassy key
Jagged edges
But smooth on the inside
She looks at in mournfully
And starts after the retreating figure
Taking note of their trail of tears
The words are caught in her throat
“You left this” she longs to say
but she knows
they will never
take it back.

She clutches the key
And stores it
In a sealed pocket
With the others.
Not in the pocket over her heart
But close to it.
She will guard it with her life
She says.

The key whispers to her at night
And seems to infect her dreams
Eventually
It
Drives
Her
Crazy.
And a lock with a round, flexible face
Takes an interest in the key
So she
Gives
It
Away.

Only to pick it up again
Weeks later.

She hates the jangle of the keys in her pocket.
She hates the sound.
She hates the whispers
That only come to her
At night, when the protection
Of other sounds
Is nowhere to be found.

She once was able to look the other in the eye
But they still
Would not
Take back
Their key.