It was like the western movie kind of doors.
The kind that would swing back and forth
in a slow creaky kind of way.
The door lead into my kitchen from the living room.
I could tell when mom was angry
because she would use the doors
as a release.
I would watch her bust through them
and then lean against a counter
with her back facing me.
Whenever the subtle creaking noise subsided
from the back and forth motion,
she somehow always found a way
to gain her composure.
Like clockwork.

Except
the one time
that
to this day,
leaves an unsettling
motion of
helplessness.

Back and Forth.