Three steel hinges, pronged finger, holding hands with wall and door. They represent land and ocean and continents Isn't it funny how grief and longing become a sixth sense?
When my marriage ended I couldn't stomach a welcome mat. The door became a safe functionality to the entrance of my home
(can I call it home? When my heart is only at home with you? And I didn't have you, until the three pronged moment)
Anyways, I get caught up in the details...
Your eye contact was my sustenance it was the first step off of a 15 hour flight, My flip book, where I shove thumb, pushing pages Snapping your sweet smile.
Can I create a crane out of these pages? To hold onto them in some physical form
All that matters is you entered my (home) When every wall whispered your name for months
Those hinges waved and the corners of my residence within my heart within my breath within my physical walls were at last, hushed.