Today's poem is by Jennifer Chang
Doom Is the House without the Door
More than once you wanted me to die.
I kicked the door until its hinges popped.
I collapsed in particle board dust.
I am a sort of door: I know how to swing open
and slam shut. I know how to lock.
You want the house. You want the last crumb
of soul I have left, but I don't die. I don't have a body.
I have an elm, fracturing limb by furious limb.
Our tornado summer. My weekly storm,
the heretic assailing the saint.
To swing open: 98° in the barn shade.
To slam shut: you sleep through my glory,
this dawn-constructed confession. To lock:
I do not know. I do not know how
to fill the smallest rooms. Once the sky
could forestall the revelation of the future,
but now I am an orchard forsaken. Ardent.
Ungovernable. Dead branch, fruitlessness, reach
for what I cannot. Not who you were or are,
but who you wanted to be. A wise thing
growing wiser. Ageless heart. To want
was the first survival. To be, the last.
Copyright © 2012 Jennifer Chang All rights reserved
from Indiana Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily!
Home Web Weekly Features Archives About Verse Daily FAQs Submit to Verse Daily
Copyright © 2002-2013 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved