The Room

This is how you do it:

Take a moment to study the door-

Unremarkable in its brown-ness

With its handle of steel gleaming

A little in the fading light.

Now grasp the handle, it is cold,

And will steady your fingers,

Which will tremble, of course;

A turn downward and a light

Push will see you through, but

If you aren’t ready-

Breathe in, breathe out

And again, and again.

But now is the moment,

And if you don’t, think

Of all the doors that

You will have to leave closed,

So push,

Your body leaning slightly

Forward, and it will

Give, squeaky hinges and all

And now the light creeps out

On tiny, feathered feet,

Swirling in the hallway.

Perhaps, it will not be so

Different

After all.

Open it wider, now,

And you can see

The room

Its walls white, like a woman’s arms,

The parquet floor clean and polished

You might slip, if you aren’t careful.

This is when you know that

The Room has been

Waiting.

So all that is left is that

Soft step over the threshold,

Standing, slightly breathless and foolish,

Your arms hanging limp by your side, feet glued

To the floor that is ice beneath your toes

As, with a final click,

The door swings softly shut.