what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice
The Red Door
i stepped through
the red door,
two last times
before I left you
left my cats, my roses
my bonsai ideas
i did so
raw and soulgladdened
though not because it was ever terrible
we never fought
for all of our years
it was comfortable
edged to neatness
mown every saturday after work
i menu-planned and you nodded
and squinted at the red door
as though you knew somewhere inside
that by letting me win the colour
you had allowed my aorta
i could have ticked along
happy with just a red door
but a year of poetry pummelled
so i opened it
amazed by the ease
by the comprehension
that the value of someone teeters
when the end has come
push their way into the morning
perhaps I was too red
against all that affirmative white
for you too much
for me too pink
you look happy
you look younger and thinner
than you have in some years
i imagine reproduction prints
quaint gallic cafes
groves of PVC olives
allowed to ramble
in a long ago kitchen
a planet away
your own little mediterranean
trimmed by language
in a culture older than ideas
i am growing well
this side of the red door
in time for the season of the poppy.
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