Hinges

A Writer's Cramp poem about being free to pass this poem by without reading it.

I am free to open my door and sing.

I am free
to laugh aloud about a president
and pray about nothing
or everything
or anything in-between.

I am free
to eat spaghetti for breakfast
and read unpopular manifestos
or share my poems in public,
or remain willfully silent.

I am free
to sit too close to the television
and jump on the mattress
or finger-paint these walls
or fill up on bread.

I am free
to labor in warm water
and bear my son swimming
or squatting heavy,
held by gentle father-hands.

I am free
to bathe, and quench a thirst
and breathe and rest my legs
or run the length of marathons
or buy tea at 3am.

I am free to close my door and cry.