Today's poem is by Sara Gelston
A locked door is a sign of distrust so the bolt and latch are removed.
how I lie awake imaging a cabal of men assembling at the driveway's
end, or a flock
of grackles forming overhead to sell me out, come in, come in. There
is nothing to stop you.
Birds and their truth, If there is nothing to fear then why my unease
with the two
deer feeding on the sumac in the side yard, who seem happier than
we? No doubt,
call the grackles, so I shoo them off with a metal spoon and pot. We
smell the smoke
of a cigarette in the woods, which is troublesome because we are
alone, and not smoking.
That will come. So too will knowing the only times we are meant to
is in passing cars or a trip to the grocer. Signs they are there: small
rocks kicked up
from wheels, bushels of blackberries picked by some hand, chalked
letters confirming local.
We are to be wary of anything foreign but not to show it. If a voice
the open door it is that of a friend we have not made yet. If a hand
finds its way
into our life, we are to shake it, wrap it in ours and keep it close. If
it should come
to rest on the tip of my hip in the night, I should say welcome,
welcome. Make yourself at home.
Copyright © 2012 Sara Gelston All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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