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.
My mom was physically abused by her boyfriend at the time. Tough moment.