Doors

The first bloom was the best blossom…

Louis MacNeice, “Apple Blossom”

The first door is the last door

When it shuts – you will never again

But, then, one day

Another door opens

Slowly

Letting in a trembling ray of light

Or suddenly,

It flies wide open 

Blinding you with an epiphany of a new day

Either way

You rejoice and dance out of the room.

One night, the wind slams it shut again

In your face

Behind somebody’s back

As they walk out and board a plane.

You sit motionless

The key in the lock

On the inside

Not opening it again, ever

There is the oven door to consider – as a metaphor, of course

Remembering a poet who took the metaphor literally

There is the lid of a wooden box

Falling down with a bang

Life sealed.

But if you just wait long enough

The last door will be the first door

And you will, one day, one night

Open it for the last time

To take your first step out.