perhappened mag
issue 11: HOMECOMING
duplex (an open door
will not break my heart)
KANIKA LAWTON
An open door will not break my heart.
I let the carpet gather all of the glass.
Gather all of the glass from shattered bottles
With hands hardened from lack of good touch.
Good touch makes home of bodies unlike my own.
I clip at myself in fear of crashing first.
In fear of crashing first I resent the flight—
I cannot hurt if I will not remember.
I will not remember the sound of his voice
Gesturing toward what I refuse to see.
I refuse to see a good man who’s good to me.
How can I be a home if I will not stay?
I am not a home if I cannot stay.
An open door will not break my heart.
I let the carpet gather all of the glass.
Gather all of the glass from shattered bottles
With hands hardened from lack of good touch.
Good touch makes home of bodies unlike my own.
I clip at myself in fear of crashing first.
In fear of crashing first I resent the flight—
I cannot hurt if I will not remember.
I will not remember the sound of his voice
Gesturing toward what I refuse to see.
I refuse to see a good man who’s good to me.
How can I be a home if I will not stay?
I am not a home if I cannot stay.
An open door will not break my heart.
Kanika Lawton is a Toronto-based writer, editor, and film scholar. She has received fellowships from Pink Door and BOAAT Writer’s Retreat and has been published in Longleaf Review, Cosmonauts Avenue, and Parentheses Journal, among others. She is the author of four micro-chapbooks, most recently Theories on Wreckage (Ghost City Press, 2020). Twitter: @petalledheart, Instagram: @honeyveined, kanikalawton.com.