The Door

Sitting alone I hear sirens
And I think of you.
Truth be told
Maybe I was thinking of you
Before the sound of the sirens
Ever met my ears.

You, all of you,
You each come back to visit me
One at a time, knocking on my door,
I have no choice but to answer.
It is written in my code of honor
To never deny help to those in need.

Come on in, I welcome you,
There's plenty of room.
You squeeze into my crowded apartment,
Bump shoulders with the man to your left,
Push my husband a little further out of the room,
And make yourself a wallflower.

I shut the door and place my back against it,
Anxiously scanning the crowd that has gathered.
Hundreds of eyes stare back at me,
Each pair holding their own story;
Everyone waits for me to speak.

There is a knock at the door.


Hands of Our Own ►


No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message