A door just opened on a street––
it launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself
as one opponent calling out checkmate
an hour past midnight.
Meanwhile back at the branch, the long-awaited return of the cardinal,
St. Francis in the iris bed, snow making a little cap for his stony head,
the sparse grass beneath naked trees since late October.
The world is filled with those who want
but the house sparrows are mating again each on top of the other,
and the neighbors’ dog will not stop barking.
so much motion and instinct
lies inert in the earth
A door is an opening, one goes in or comes out.
Does your paint still cover doors?
–– Lois Marie Harrod’s 11th book of poetry, Brief Term, was just published by Black Buzzard Press.
Learn more at www.loismarieharrod.com
We were proud to feature Lois Marie Harrod’s work in Volume 8 of Kansas City Voices, order your copy at: http://www.kansascityvoices.com/