You promise to wind the key

at the bottom of my spine and

make me well again, push me

towards the reeds that hide

the lake so well.

I keep waiting, thinking I’m

asking the right questions but

all I get is a blank stare. I think

you know that

by my own volition I am not

exactly cursed except for the

idea of being stuck here forever

and a day.

“Walk,” you say, “walk well,

do not look back. Go to the water.”

It is not deep near the shore unless

it’s a trick.