Doors
____________________________________

In sleep the ones departed
became doors but I must not have
remembered for waking I walked in
and out of the doors sometimes pausing touching
a door as if I’d left something I needed
or was waiting and all that time the door
only separated me from another room
that word so full of its own still
wind or sometimes like an ocean secretly
invisibly rocking its objects
back and forth back and forth but I got
older and the rooms grew smaller
and smaller and suddenly I was tall
as the hour and the daydream
terribly long and there were the toys
yesterday and tomorrow
I could finally pick up and hold.

 

From Tall If by Mark Irwin, 2008

New Issues Poetry & Prose, Western Michigan University, Dept. of English,
1903 W. Michigan Ave., Kalamazoo, MI 49008-5331
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