Wooden Doors

Wooden Doors

By Emily Fogel

Behind closed doors

She is ready to burst

Closed eyes, closed hands

Mahogany, beach wood doors

She cannot hold it in

The knock that is her voice

So she reaches for the knob

And pulls:

Out come her feelings, her fears
Naked and flowing like tree sap tears
    

    

My god it's such a dreary, rainy, cloudy, misty day.  Which I love, don't get me wrong, it's actually my favorite kind of weather. But gosh. So darn dreary.  I can just feel winter in my bones, a bit creaky, and the air is brisk and everything around me seems to be rumbling.  And I'm eating a Popsicle to make summer somehow stay but the Popsicle isn't melting the way it did in august and so I've got it all figured out, you see, winter is finally here.