Arts + Scene » Poetry

"The Door Only Opens One Way"



He said as I left home
With all my possessions
Crammed into the trunk
Of a Ford Cortina ...

I never looked back.

Only the sound of tires
Pounding on the Bay Bridge
Broke through the fog,
Until the smell of exhaust

Greeted us at her front door.

So we learned to fly
Into stiff Pacific winds,
Always heading north
Away from the storm

That built our family.

Our remodeled home
Now carries all the warmth
Of two priceless children,
A decrepit old dog

And a door that opens both ways!

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