The Knob

Words
fill me; guide me.

I touch the cabinet knob
as I reach for a breakfast dish
and words spill into my mind
and escape through my heart.

Often I touch this knob,
but I never really see it.
Or rather, I never really
hear it.
The knob says, "remember?"

...remember how you scrubbed,
           claiming me;
...how you had no knob,
           and now you do;
...how you listened to Knopfler on Pandora in the background
           as you wiped off sudsy residue
           in rhythm to his cadence;
...how the hum in you
           snuck out through the dish rag
           as you whirled and twirled
           your fears away;
...and how in one moment
           you wanted to drop the rag
           and walk away;
           no,
           run.

But here is the knob
and my breakfast dish
and the sum of our conversation
as I
"waltz with fear in my heart."