Doors

There are always doors. Familiar doors
we use every day.
Coming in
and going out.
Close it quietly.
Some don't.
Some slam it shut.

There are doors
to tomorrow,
there are doors
to yesterday
and the doors
to the future.
Little flap doors
for the cats
and big doors
to the banks.

Doors with the doorknobs
and those with the handls
and the doors
where you have to
punch the numbers.

Door to the kitchen
and you think
you still can smell
tomato soup
you had for supper
yesterday.

Door to your parents bedroom
you don't open
when it is closed.
Huge door to the school,
when you are so small.
One day that door
closes behind you.
One day you own a key
to your first apartment
and it has your name on it.

The doors to your future,
the doors to unknown,
full of surprises,
we open every day.
One day you return
your card
to the door
you closed willingly
and open the door
to the quiet life.
You open it quizzically.
Here I come
my old age.

My neighbor died yesterday.
He had diabetes.
The illness which
will get you
soon or later
finger by finger,
toe by toe.
There is emptiness
and wet eyes
of his wife and children,
It was his last door
and now it's closed.

Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 12/2/2010