Touching The Doorknob To Make Sure It's Not Hot Poem by Amanda Lukas

She contacted me to say she knew her.
It had been a great friendship,
but so long ago,
and I've always tried my hardest to remember everything,
my mind filling voids with its own images for so long
I'm not sure anymore whether I can decipher fact from fantasy.
It's probably better that way.
Safer, at least.

She asks 'Do you believe in mediums? '
And my sarcasm kicks in immediately
as I think to myself 'Mediums? Right, lady.'
But she was a friend of my mother's before
Mom and I had ever met,
and the idea of learning more both tickles and stings.
My mind goes numb at the thought.

A woman I have never met,
or don't remember meeting, anyway,
has suddenly opened another door
that I thought I'd sealed shut long ago.

And curiousity gets the best of me,
so I choose the rockier road,
and ask to hear the story -
the no-holds-bar story.
The same one I've heard over and over,
just without the censorship.
How hard can it be?
I've heard plenty of stories
without happy endings.