The screen door pushes open easily
I stand in the screened-in porch
crispy leaves from years of autumns
pile in the corners
the stone floor is etched with mud
turn the knob to the back door
lean against it
locked
search under the crumbling
door mat for a key—
nothing
a cracked clay pot
with the skeleton of a dead plant
sits next to the door
I reach into the middle of it
pull out a key.