• Posted on January 21, 2014 at 10:05 pm

Thirty steps to many hearts, hurts and
all these echoes spoken by doors

the singular, the anguished one-way
phone call that cannot reach

the hearts alight in family wholeness
voiced to one another

the child in protest between parents
both of whom would own their time

creaks and groans of lovers engaged
freely in orgasmic pursuit

the inconsolable belly-opening grief
poured to a door that’s closed

and the telephone that rings and rings
in the space where an absence lives

or dies unknown through unhearing walls
doors without keys just a letter-slot

wide enough when the police knock, bend
look, listen, with radio voices, leave

down thirty steps of unseen hearts, hopes,
hurts and lives spoken only by doors

2013 © Andie Davidson


« Pigeon holes Out and about »


Leave a Reply