Door
I don't know who lives in those houses
with pastel doors, mint green
and pale salmon. Whoever heard of a lavender
door in the middle of winter, as if
snow could dilute
alizarin crimson, saturated lapis,
deepest cobalt blue. Perhaps
they imagine a kinder welcome.
Girls not able to reach the knobs,
their pink shoes and tired crayons;
boys with missing teeth; the dog barking.
Or an elder in slippers and gown
recalling the pale sprigs of April, the scent of lilac.
______________
Ann Lauterbach
Door
Penguin, 2023
