Who Would Knock?

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 message unopened—

if I said

Not tonight.

Not this time.

Not me.

who would knock?

If I set the weight down.

If I unlearned strong.

If I let silence stay

long enough

to hear itself—

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 closed the door

and offered nothing

but myself—

who would knock?

Or would the hallway

keep my name

for itself?

If I stopped offering—

who

would knock—

knock—

knock.