silence

I will take every chance that you give me.  Give me your limits, then I’ll reach them all.

I will go further, to prove you don’t love me;

to prove you won’t catch my serrated fall.

Everything opens a fairy door, be it a watch, or a card, or a screw.

You just have to find the right door for it, darling.

Or better yet, let it find you.

I like doors that open with knives, those are the ones that are opened at night.

So things can be stolen, and severed, and blurred;

like a wrist, and then into the light.

I love doors that open with wine, those are the spiraling, maddening sort.

I keep clanging these lone, empty bottles together

and constantly coming up short.

26 Comments

  1. “I will take every chance that you give me. Give me your limits, then I’ll reach them all.I will go further, to prove you don’t love me;to prove you won’t catch my serrated fall.” I love this intro. Very revealing.

    Your door images really got under my skin. Here’s my response poem:

    I prefer the door that opens at dawn
    with the silent sigh of the changing tide
    the door where there was none before the
    moment that it was spun into existence

    I like the unlocked door with nothing
    to pry no knife or fist or broken-off
    neck from the empty third bottle is
    needed to inscribe the red words

    scratched code on hidden white softness
    door that waits always ajar even
    when I’m lost in wine’s fevered torment
    opens even when I cannot

    All the best. Keep writing.
    Alice

  2. I love doors that open with words and expressions, with “I’ve never told anyone this before”, with unspoken promises and with sometimes goodbyes. I love your words, and how they make me think…I love the part about doors opened with knives so much that the words/images/evocations will be bouncing about in my mind for awhile.

  3. The best doors are locked and don’t have handles, the ones you have to have to break down with sledgehammers and kick in.

  4. I must admit the rhymes caught me by surprise. As always, very moving, and very precise. It is hard to balance the two, and you mastered this balance.

    I once wrote a sophomoric play about adolescence and the such, in which the protagonist’s mother asks him why he insists on closing metaphoric doors.
    His reply:
    “I don’t live in a corridor.”

  5. Wonderful triplets–nice subtle rhyme works very well with the subject…tricky and well-done use…love the turns of this…from anger to vulnerability…with so many stops along the way…

Love you, too

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