Elizabeth Romero: Doors

The door to the apartment closes with a sound like this:
Well?
Car doors sound like this:
So!
Then the sound of distance
your mind stretches to measure.
There are doors in our dreams.
You can’t find them.
They won’t open.
You can’t fit through them.
You don’t have the key.
A young boy runs down the stairs in sneakers.
The door closes.
A police car door, an ambulance door,
the door of a hospital.
Well?
Well, people move on; they move on, that’s all.
Sometimes they die. Maybe in a hospital
the machines humming, the nurse
closes the door, a triangle of light
grows thin and disappears.
Well?
Every day you leave and come back
leave and come back
The door closes the door closes the door closes.
One day it closes for the last time.
You don’t live there anymore.

Copyright 2017 Elizabeth Romero