A Thousand Snags


A Thousand Snags

The door has an uneasy swollen way
of closing. Caught on a thousand snags,

as if its frame is invisibly smaller than
useful for purpose. And this door sees

with my eyes, admits through my touch,
the consequence of those who enter where
too many take leave. I cannot keep them,

those whom I love, small whispers by
thousands that they are, and I feign with-

out panic, allowing chill to a burn, as I’ve
felt the cold here, even when closed doors

allow none. It is sharper than cold when
my heart is lying, so stark and senseless.


Inspired by words from
Bleak House by Charles Dickens



Originally posted on Chalk Hills Journal,
and revised & rewritten 21 December/14.





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