The Door

The Door, by Charles Simic

Step up to the door.

Softly, softly

As if approaching

A house of cards.

Bare feet allowed.

Dogs allowed.

The sun and the moon and the evening

Wind allowed.

In the shadow of this door

You'll play in the smallest theaters

With a bit of dark gravel

And a solitary white bread crumb.

The door that thinks

With your eyes

Thinks and thinks

Even while you're away.

If you can find a doorstep,

Carry your bride over it

And leave your shoes behind

Alone with the night falling.

If you can see a keyhole in this door,

Put your ear against it

And listen to the sounds of love

On the other side.

Don't try to open the door.

The child you were once

Will come out with eyes blindfolded

And lose itself in the crowd.

The door opens by itself

While you sleep.

All keys you ever lost,

All rusty keys

Lie behind it unused.

The door opens by itself.

Do you have a poem you love, and want to share? Inaugurated by the Academy in April 1996, National Poetry Month (NPM) brings together publishers, booksellers, literary organizations, libraries, schools, and poets around the country to celebrate poetry and its vital place in American culture. Thousands of businesses and non-profit organizations participate through.

image from my files