There will always be

this door between us;

rattling in the wind

yet the hinges are too stiff

for it ever to open.

Within the wood grain

his face is etched –

the man who loves us both,

who had to lose me

in order to have you.

In his face

we see two different men,

thus the bolts on the door

continue to rust and tighten,

creak and solidify

as we seek a middle ground;

slip our fingers beneath the door

to hold each other’s hands.

And I would be lying

if I said I didn’t hope

the door develops rot,

a sickness which strips it thin

from the outside in

so one day it is brittle enough

to peel away the wooden face;

wrinkled lines and unmoving eyes,

to see yours on the other side

and hold you, taste the same air

as you, and breathe

with the relief I will

no longer need to fight

to see you.

 

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In response to August 8th: Closed doors, #rainasmprompts

Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019

Between the Trees UK

Between the Trees US

Available internationally