Poem: The Door

 

The Door

 

the door was in fact a statement,

opening only to be left behind. 

to search its corners

was to imagine the knob of a curious face. 

 

clues in the grains of the wood 

alluded to a perch or theater stage;

and to the comings-and-goings 

of the many who had used the door,

swinging through their exits and entrances

to swish, saunter, stumble, sidle, skip.

 

the keyhole, though, was not quite right,

too tricky for an eye to take,

and yet somewhere, i knew,

far beyond the wall-like maze of knotholes

dwelled an unquenchable flower.

 

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6/23/24 revamp

11/29/23 ... lots more changes... running up against the limits of what I can be, despite what I want to be

10/30 more desperate fixes...

10/25  ... fixed typo in first sentence  ... "the contours" replaces "its contours" ... sound-flow & meaning mods to second to last sentence.