Who Would Knock?

If I stopped offering—
no reminders, no rescue,
no soft place to land—
if I let the phone ring
and did not reach,

who would knock?

If I forgot the birthday,
missed the cue,
left the text unopened, blue—

if I said
Not tonight.
Not this time.
Not me.

who would knock?

If I set the weight down.
If I unlearn strong.
If I let silence run long—

if my hands were empty
and stayed empty,

who would knock?

I have been altar and audience,
shelter and shoulder,
first call, last resort—

but if I close the door
and offer nothing,

who would knock?

Or would the hallway
keep my name
for itself.

If I stopped offering—

who
would knock—

knock—

knock.