wildwestwind: In the doorway

Michael's Fáilte

Welcome to these writing warmups, blatherings, rantings, meditations, perorations, salutations, latest and those on time, those narrative, declarative, interrogative, gollywogative and other outdated, belated, simulated musings, perusings, shavings and other close calls, with no disrespect intended, that's why no real names included whenever impossible to avoid the guilt that came in the crib for uttering something that would hurt or injure those in authority, being of everlasting servitude to all and sundry, having chosen the road not taken and the frost on the pumpkin long before the kettle turned black or the cat found its own tail fascinating,
Your humble servant, etc.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

In the doorway

There is shelter on the threshold
an opening in the strange world
a word to be twisted out across
the page
a metaphor in the rain, say,
a difficult night in the city
a number
sometimes a slit, the mouth of the door,
a brass flap for letters
or a child's enquiries
too short for the rapper, the knocker,
the bell
Who's inside?
I hear them coming
Let me catch my breath up in the chest
and pretend I'm ready
a simple thing, really,
without which there would be no house
no entry, no room, no stairs
leading somewhere
What's on the other side?
In the this sacred belief we call
The Way of the Door
open yourself to my entreaties
Twist the doorknob left or right
and you will see me there
half in shadow
almost waiting
always poised
Anticipate my coming
without footsteps only heartbeats
Bring in the light from which I came
and break it like an egg
Beat it into tonight
so we can see our dreams
Take away your draftproof seal
and your deadbolts
Take away the cobwebs and
autumnal debris caught up
in the corner of your post
and lintel existence Take away
the frame and open up
to me