Desert Dweller

I have not locked my doors
since I moved here eight years ago.
I deadbolt the laundry room door
because it can blow open
with a strong gust of wind.

I live on four acres in a semi-rural area
on the grassland of southern Arizona,
surrounded by mountains,
visited less by people
than by quail, javelina,
and the local bobcat.

A few weeks ago,
the laundry room door was open.
I assumed it was unlocked by my neighbor,
who occasionally borrows my washer.

But last week I noticed
the deadbolt was unlatched.

Today the unlocked door
got shoved open by the wind.
I panicked,
thinking my cat had gotten out.

My neighbor says
they never unlock that door,
which means someone
has been in my home
without my knowledge.

So, although I hate to do it,
I’m locking doors to feel safe.

My pistol has been in a box in the closet
all these years—
but now it is loaded and close at hand.
Not because I expect injury,
but because I can’t shake
the feeling of being violated.

© 2026 Bruno Talerico
18/365.