Poetry Time: The Door VI

I wrote a series of poems about doors a few years ago. I think this is the last one in that series.

April 26, 2011

The door swings gently shut behind me,
moving on its track,
clicking into place.
I know not
whether I am locked inside
or free to move out and through—
choices to embrace.

I admire the door,
the strong wood,
the handle, latch, or knob,
every scuff on its surface,
every whorl and tweak and bob,
the beautiful squealing of the hinges
that have not had any grease,
that minuscule lock-hole,
opening only to a key.