Page 15--The Door--Diane Siebert

I’ve hung a new door in my heart.
It is thick hardwood with heavy locks.
It is new now—the wood smells fresh
and the brass knob shines.

The wood will weather to gray
and the hardware will tarnish,
yet, I will not open the door again.

I will cover the peephole
and remove the knocker
so I won’t be tempted to open it.
Still, you rap with your knuckles
on the door. I will not open it.

It took a long time for my heart to recover
from the wringing and battering you gave it,
freshly healed with soft pink skin, still beating.

I will not open the door.