Today's poem is by Stephanie Bolster


The cabinet, mahogany, stiff-hinged.
Behind a door a beagle peered
from a shelf, left with an empty dish,
its owners in Florida. The next door led
to a garden the size of my face,
staked with campanula. If I looked
long enough, I'd fall through,
an aphid, unmissed. The third door
flung wide before I could decide.
Bars across it, old iron.
Maybe peacocks had been here, or a pacing
bear, or a dry fountain of litter. The smell
of June. Whatever, it was over.
The bars, which were a gate, opened.

Copyright © 2005 Stephanie Bolster All rights reserved
from Vallum
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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