Open the Door
By Natasha Bredle
Part the lock from the wedge. Hinge
from the wallpaper. Part it until
two halves don’t make a whole,
just a space where something
unneeded used to be.
Don’t pull; don’t risk
getting held back. Hands are meant
to flatten, to press into something
malleable, if only to seek something
worth grasping onto for life.
control of the life you’re grasping onto.
Your angle of sight slowly dissipates
as the wood swings shut without so much
as a whisper. You’d thought
it’d resist more.
you’d known that magnificence
would end and begin with such
a simple command:
Open the door.