supine thoughts

The Report

When my home was invaded

for the first time,

I called the police to report the crime.

The second invasion

was when they arrived,

and flashes exposed what was left, what survived.

The smashed windows,

the broken lock on the door,

the valuables cracked and left on the floor.

Photos laid bare on the table,

I swore to be an open book,

though no camera or interview could capture what the man took.

Not only things,

but my sense of security;

the sanctuary I had built had just lost it's purity.

But after these invasions,

my hopes for justice were denied,

when the officer asked if I was sure I'd not invited him inside.