A door is protection from reality,
Most times an abstract escape from the land of reality,
barley shut to mature away.
A door is an empty space,
waiting for a web to be wound,
or a new peeling paint to be coated.
A door Is a shut in,
slamming shut to rage,
Opening quietly to apologise.
A door is the future,
an entrance to your living space,
or a new home.
A door is past life,
opening to your cot rocking small toys,
or a grey damp room from the people who lived there before your parents.
A door is an unfamiliar room,
stepping into that one person who bumped into you’s room,
or a chef’s restaurant kitchen you wanted to see.