Inside my head

I do not want you
to hand me a map
with the destination marked,
or give me a miner’s lamp
a walking stick,
a flask of tea.
I do not want you
to pack me a bag
or bake biscuits.
I don’t want you
to open the door.
I don’t even want you
to polish the door handle
or breathe close to the doorbell.

Let me fumble in this room,
pat the walls down,
search for non-existent light switches
and windows.
Let me discover the picture
that hides the safe.
Only I know the combination.
Let me open it. Let it reveal
a light, a way out.