Doors
I don’t mean to leave you
staring at the back door
wondering where I’m coming from.
It is a mystery, perhaps,
but not unsolvable.
As the crowd grows bigger
between us,
I simply have to keep moving.
My feet dance across the carpet,
tap the tile, nudge the door,
scuff the dirt in the parking lot,
and I move — sidestepping
customers, friends, relatives,
workers, telephones, doors.
Stay in one place too long
and I run the risk of touching you,
in front of everyone.
So I leave.
Leave the flourescent suns
lighting my way to the door.
Leave the pale, curious faces
hovering over my words.
Leave the unseen voices on the phone
keeping you hostage at your desk.
Leave you
with your Windows open,
your multi-tasking integrity in tact.
Outside is easier —
my voice sounds quieter
and I am more composed,
but then there’s the car door
and the leaving again.
Between your 24-hour days and mine
there must be a gap,
but it is too small to see
with the naked eye.
And timing is everything.
My own private space
has been reduced
to the little electronic box
that collects my mail.
I scan the screen each morning
looking for a sign
that you have been there.
But it doesn’t come often,
your nights being as full as your days.
So I leave,
arriving at your back door
wondering where I’m coming from.
I did not come to buy,
I came to borrow.
One small cup of energy
to fill me up.
Your smile, flashed across the room.
Your eyes connecting with mine
for one brief respite.
I snap my mental photo
and then I’m gone —
out the door and leaving.
I needed to see you,
that’s all.
Our lives are surrounded
by a cast of thousands:
opening and closing
mouths, minds, eyes,
windows and doors;
our scenarios played out
by the number of closures
each week.
Tunnel visions across the room,
encrypted words across the monitor
may be the only private life
we ever have...
eventually
replacing dreams,
which are too easily
interrupted.
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