after he was gone

I am too small, the heavy wooden
door, hinges rusted, brass no longer shiny,
is wedged into my conscience, allowing
no movement,
         in, out
         jammed
desire ignites might, I slither
like a reptile
or a rat, into the slight crack
between the two places
of now and then
my feet poised to sustain my feeble arms
and I push like a mythological hero
         forward, backwards
         easing but still not passing
         the jammed gateway
suddenly the man-I-have-become
remembers a dream
angel tears made from pure heartbeats
smooth out the kinks of a lopsided lifetime
         in, the door finally
         sliding freely, open
         no longer harboring its mystery
there, in a solid white room
gold framed and anchored to each wall
perfectly centered at my six-year-old eye level
pictures glimmer magically
my long forgotten father
hugging a tiny boy child, love on his face
in the background was that magnificent
holiday tree, reaching towards the ceiling
its branches grasping my future, hailing a moment
when unencumbered, I could remember
his sweet words of comfort before
the dark shadows of loneliness


after he was gone
[2009.1.2…a]
The ALB, JR Poems