A man carries his door,
the door of his house,
because when the war is over
he is going home
where he will hang it
on its hinges
and lock it, tight,
while he tries to remember
the word for welcome.
If his house is gone
when he returns,
he will raise it from rubble
around this door.
If he cannot return,
the door will remember
the rest of the house
so he can build it
again, elsewhere.
And if he cannot go on,
his door can be a pallet
for his rest, a stretcher
to carry him, his shade
from sun, his shield.
From Gold Star Road, Barrow Street Press, 2007
Richard Hoffman's four books of poetry are Without Paradise; Gold Star Road; Emblem; and Noon until Night. His other books include the memoirs Half the House and Love & Fury, and the story collection Interference and Other Stories.
There is no where like home… but sometimes this door becomes very heavy… and holding on to the dream of going back, as life continues and gets more complicated, becomes harder and harder… I am still carrying my door… but I wonder if I will ever be free if I don’t let go…
Vox Populi 
There is no where like home… but sometimes this door becomes very heavy… and holding on to the dream of going back, as life continues and gets more complicated, becomes harder and harder… I am still carrying my door… but I wonder if I will ever be free if I don’t let go…
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Thank you for this.
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Thank you, Richard.
Lovely.
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Stunning, my friend!!
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Love this. Are we all carrying our doors? Should we?
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In a sense, we take our homes with us, don’t we?
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A Classic, Richard! Thank you! -rg
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I agree!
Michael Simms https://www.michaelsimms.info
Author of Nightjar Author of American Ash Founder of Autumn House Press Editor of Vox Populi
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