This month’s poem…

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The Door

There come days

when the door

eases ajar

just a little,

the creak and the push of the wind through the gap,

a handful of leaves scraping the floorboards,

a little swirl of dust, twisting and settling,

and the door clicks to.

 

There come days

when the door

is a weathered bit of wood

forgotten in a farmyard.

 

There come days

when the door

slams wide

and everything comes piling in,

chairs and table turn over,

leaves, twigs catch in your hair,

the wind drives into your face,

nostrils and mouth filling with rushing air.

 

It subsides.

The door drifts shut.

 

You restore the room to rights,

sheltering the flame of what happened.

 

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Published by

James R Kilner

James R Kilner is a poet based in the north of England. His latest book is 'Persephone', the follow-up to his first collection, 'Frequencies of Light'.

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