The Screen Door: Early Impressions Revisited

The screen door,

closing two-clapped

rickety wood

Gone forgotten,

Unheard over years.


It still signals flies,

kids chasing kids,

And mockingbird songs

In fig tree shade.

Summer’s paradise and ease with just that:

A clappety-clap.



Suppertime fly on sliced red tomato

Red onion avoided.

Chores, wanderings, and a boring anxiety

All screened in nicely,

with a pantry full of secrets,

And secret pantries,

To fill in the gaps between claps.

Who knew?


The movement: her book title words,

Sentences concealing poems,

Complete and tidy,

All wrapped in a pause,

Searching for one more verse,

Lines of freedom etched across

Long marks on a working floor.


Yet, her life, in minutes, days or odd moments

Could hang up on the tiniest things,

And go spinning neatly out of control,

Just barely.


Clappety-clap goes the thin wood frame,

Rickety against the unshakable,

While the pantry door sits open:

There is work to be done now.

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