“kinds of doors”
Door of the Great Pardon.
the door. standing in the middle of the field. no walls. no house. just a door. so which way is inside, and which way is out? or does it only matter, that you walked through?
the gates of horn and ivory. the gates of dreams.
“The time will come/when, with elation,/you will greet yourself arriving/at your own door, in your own mirror/and each will smile at the other’s welcome.” Derek Walcott
The Rabbit hole, falling falling down.
hidden doors. secret doors. the bookshelf touched in just the right place, and suddenly, the door opens into mystery.
do you choose door number 1 or door number 2? let’s make a deal.
the door slammed shut. the angry leaving, banging against the frame, telling everyone to go to hell.
Doors of Perception.
sliding doors to the el.
hotel door with the knob tag reading, do not disturb.
The door to the Secret Garden, covered in branches and vines.
Gate of Hades.
doors that act as boundary. to a space or person or body or the first apartment i ever had that was all my own. this is the line, that point, where you have to be invited inside. and if and when you are invited, when someone says “here. please. come in.” it is one of the greatest privileges that exists.
french doors. how i always wanted some, coming off the bedroom., walking out onto and into something and somewhere beautiful.
a vault door.
a closed door.
the clicking sound of a school locker door.
the door walked through, and how you realize after that, that there is door after door after door.
the wardrobe door, portal to Narnia.
Gate of Ishtar.
doors you get locked out of. or locked inside of. crawling up ladders and into windows. or inside the closet, or the bedroom, when you were so little and couldn’t help yourself from trying, and now you can’t figure out how to turn the knob in the right way to make the door un-click, unlock, setting you free. the couple standing by their car in the coffee shop parking lot, facing off, furious. because they are locked out of the car. because it seems to be his fault. because now she is throwing something at him, and he walks away. and how, when i was a kid, before electric locks on cars, you used to take the old wire hanger and slip in through the top of the window, try to loop it around the top of the lock, pull up ever so gently, and if you were lucky, it would look like magic, and the door would open for you again.
the restroom doors in restaurants or bars with confusing pictures to tell you which is men’s and which is women’s, and the slight anxiety that your guess was wrong.
the broken back screen door, how it squeaks and creaks when everyone goes outside, into the summertime.
the Famous Door in New Orleans
literal and figurative doors with locks all the way down, bolted and chained, no trespassing sign taped to the front. enter at your own risk.
the door that, once you enter it, changes everything, forever.
the garage door, how it always stuck, and you had to crawl and sometimes roll under it, to get inside or out.
my back door. wood inside. peeling paint outside. metal crisscrossed. light cracking in. and how it goes out to one of my favorite places in this whole city, sitting out on the fire escapes steps, especially when its raining.
“the Gates of Paradise”
standing at the threshold. standing at the door. waiting in the darkness. i don’t want to wait no more.