There is a door in the house
where I grew up
that is never allowed to open.
Nothing special about this door;
it is made of wood and hinge.
My father holds the key
to this door,
and when I attempt to open it,
he quickly reprimands me -
"No! That's not for you, boy!"
My mother will not admit
that this door exists.
She insists,
"There's nothing there, sonny,
that's just a wall,"
though, to it, I have seen her
press her ear and pound her fists
and rattle every hinge.
She will not be happy
until this door is broken.
There is a door in the house
where I grew up
that is never allowed to open.
