~COLETTE INEZ~

DOORS

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The tall school doors
you opened and closed
past the Pont Neuf
are still there.
Was it the old bridge
I crossed that day
earth opened to the mountains
and the hoopoe’s song
above your stone?

When you entered his room,
did he look down the hall
before shutting the door?
In that house
did you float down the stairs,
your sweater, the blue
of summer nights
erasing patterns of water,
and prints of creatures
that hide from the light?

In another country
I left my footsteps in snow
gathered at your door.
You asked who I was
though I looked like him.
I saw your thinning
wren-brown hair and a gray sweater,
sprouting holes—dream doors
to bird houses, and story book mice.

Your mouth tightly closed,
startled gold eyes asking me in.
 
 
 

© by Colette Inez