Poetry

Doorways

I love to look across at my bookshelves.

I don’t just see slabs of paper wrapped in pretty pictures,

or titles on spines acting as identities.

 

I see doorways.

 

I see vines of words reaching out to tangle around my arms and drag me in,

whether to another world entirely,

or to a part of my own brain that I’ve never greeted before.

 

Even after I close the book

once my ticket there is spent,

I know I can use it as a wedge to return to that place.

 

A place where I will always find a home

or a friendship,

a truth, a discovery

and sometimes

even family.