Opened and Closed
Mum had a thing about closing doors. Questioned if we
were raised in a barn, but a closed door is a powerful force.
Still we stared like unblinking stars watching the universe. Daydreamed
ourselves into a stupor. Dreaming. But not once did our eyes ever close.
And every night I set my shoes with toes pointing at the wall. Didn’t want
astral projections, no walkabouts while I slept. Doors closed, and latched.
But mostly there wasn’t a body towel big enough to cover our modesty.
And it goes without saying that the door was always closed.
One day a gust snapped the front door shut, and there I stood in grey
sopping drizzle, locked out of the house. A nuisance, those closed doors…
And Mum always said an open jaw is an absence of words but we knew that
when it’s closed it’s still silent. Such is the rub; closed or not you can’t win.
At night we’d settle for sleep and hope for dreams, holding our pride
close as a flame is to a wick. We were open minds behind closed doors.
Yes, there’s a blindness to money, a deafness in its music. It’s a cord
too close and picked too sharp. Tone-deaf isn’t such a bad thing.
Always a scrape, Mum said. Some great scrape at great pace. Reckless
as a gale blowing, and no one dared stand too close. The great prevaricator.
She was such a child. An absolute child, brightening consequences,
echoing laughter. She opened the world for us, from beginning to end.
Open and closed.
for MLMM wordle #45
[Note: this is purely fictional, as is most of my work]