Her file informs,
that at six,
she spent three days in a closet,
captive—with two younger brothers.
The file does not explain the cause,
only the rescue by police
(and recommended therapy).
But her eyes still tell of the darkness
her pupils adjusted to:
the human stench,
the pervasive fear,
the thin sliver of light,
from the hallway—left on, forgotten.
Even now,
nearly ten years after,
she will not sleep
with her door closed,
or the lights off.
Roommates hate sharing her room;
windows still open in February.
She told me, once,
she was ashamed:
she squinted
when they finally
opened the door.
All I can tell her
is sometimes
our eyes adjust to the dark.
