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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4195 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Open Treezaa (T. E. Ballard) I hear a door. It could be anyone. It could be love walking up a stone path. Her tail curls-- this is the way need is folding and unfolding to the windows which bear no handles for they have no desire to escape. These are the ways of doors, the metal hinge, the wooden jam, the lock and key. I have waited in the rib of a home, where only sorrow lived and it made no sound. Grief entered through the grove and tongue of boards nailed, measured, tested to hold weight. So I am here under the bruise of a sky, waiting for a click, the metal cry. It could be a door. |
