by Treehouse Editors
Set inside the socket of its jamb,
its weight hangs
from three hinges, like elbows in an arm.
Its sweep wipes clear this littered floor
when we, in our disorder
It can define the factions it divides,
holding us back
when peephole’s eye mistrusts,
and each side sees
a different act.
A door invites a knock,
a tap on glass, an errant slam,
a sneaking shut,
supports the option of a hand
upon a handle
or a lock.
Linda Conroy is a retired social worker who uses poetry to show the simplicity and complexity of behaviors that make us human. Her poetry has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Snapdragon, Door is Ajar, and Soul-Lit. She is the author of a poetry collection, Ordinary Signs.