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Click hereThere is a dark room in my house
that’s nearly always locked.
I try the handle every day but
the door has a mind of its own.
Now and then it opens wide
revealing the room entire
--different each time, full of
jumbled, shrouded things,
a different size and shape and
function: ballroom, bedroom,
kitchen, study, attic, den; each
mysteriously functional but
ineffable, inscrutable.
Sometimes it opens just enough
for me to enter, clumsily,
to trip, tumble, fumble my
way to the far side.
Frequently it seems wedged on some
frustrating obstacle just out of sight,
leaving me to peer at possibilities
through the crack.
Most times it’s just locked,
sequestered, unrecoverable.
I lived in a house as a child that had doors that would spontaneously open. It was creepy. Like this poem. Five.
Love this, I see it as being your mind full of all different furniture at different times
like a word dance. I'm just beginning to see that in what you do because someone pointed it out to me. Repeated words with similar sounds. I enjoy playing with words in this manner too. I just don't do it with the same acumen while retaining a meaning--yet! :-)
and the poem has a fine flow, very fluid. I feel like it needs something more because even as an extended metaphor (for something unobtainable) it doesn't have a passion or tension at its heart. Maybe that's the riddle part? I'm not sure how you'd do that though (yes I am a big help, huh?). I have to think about it. :-)
I'm begging off, maybe, because I'm not in the mood for thinking. I left 100, I think, maybe I put it in that room