Her Door, Her Red Door

yeah. come with me she said…
she had keys in her jeans that
flexed outlined in tight relief on that
power…shifting, rolling, sailing, barrel housing,

brick house? gawd that is dollhouse up against this Clipper Ship Sailing
and back is just the half of it!  forth is there, no–here, no–there, no–here
yeah you get the picture…honky, tonky, honky, tonky rambling roll

(hank williams moaned and climbed into the bottle, seeing that end)

of course i had never seen this, or this place…(who looks at their mom
when they are looking to her power, to tap into her smoulder glow
like bonneville into the columbia thrilling as she turns those turbines?)
…she prolly demurred, magic shawl in place concealing and entrancing…

but now she walked, swished, ricocheted gutter to gutter
picking up every 7-10 split every step without gutter balls and those keys…
…no sound, bunched and squenched tight there, those keys…

(teena marie had keys like these, yanked from the dudes on the corner)

her door before us fat, streaks-run-swirls-whorls, depth-breadth flowing
crimson coral flaming, cardinal glowing carmine cerise chestnut cracking
garnet sanguine scarlet and rosy…that door was thick and giving…it blowzed there
full, sprawled (like titian’s venus) and throbbing with certain promise.

she said (with eyes) drink this and blinked and shook that wild
living crown claret and blooming rufescent from her head
more precious than the curve of Saturn’s iridescent rings

(aretha conferred keys and fierce eyes midst natural woman’s smoky spell)

then her hand glowed gold, she reached and touched my lips with her finger fragrant
and savory with her her.… and cackled wild woman crone songs branding me, said
I’d never phone home again cus I was there, here, there, here, and she dug out a key
and told me to swallow it which i did, and that fulsome door

creaked open with hinges groaning (hank moaning and dying)
and aretha conferring shoutin respect on my own head of wild locks
and beyonce blazed jeanne d’arc and that key moved, and became

(my own wad, key tight against my ass)

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10 thoughts on “Her Door, Her Red Door

      • It’s just so much! (In a good way, too!) before I saw your recent post about it I had planned to go back to it when time allows. Trying to Figueroa out how to find it from the Word Press app on my iPad while my son is speeding (yes, he’s speeding all right) behind the wheel with me in the passenger’s seat as we race toward the east coast and his future, probably isn’t the best time to do that. 🙂

        This one really did catch me. Great job!!

          • I have spent so much of this year driving kids around the country- Florida, New York…. Multiple times…. Always me driving. I’m not very patient this trip- especially being the trip it is.

  1. Pingback: A Rosetta Stone | Charissa's Grace Notes

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    • Thanks GK!! I am very glad you liked it…I fear this poem was a bit daunting for the casual reader of my blog? I am not a good judge of my own work, but there are poems which I know from how I felt when I wrote and also the techniques I employed which I think of as excellent poems (the same way a builder would know all the amazing things she did underneath the sheetrock)…and often those poems garner far fewer “likes” than some things which I like just as well but are more like whipping up a yummy batch of cookies! lol

      GK…did you see my post yet “A Rosetta Stone”? I have a new friend who wanted to see some of my writings, so I sent her “Her Door…” She liked it very much but confessed that she had no idea what I was talking about…so because stylistically I do a lot of things like I did in this poem, I decided to send her a “behind the scenes” insight into what my thinking was as I wrote, what the metaphors were relating to, and so on…and I do not do this much because I don’t want to cheat whomever is reading it from the joy of discovery, AND from the magical moment when something brand new is mined from the poem which I myself had no clue was there!

      Poetry…gawd how I love it…sometimes I imagine God, as They spin out this poem of creation and redemption and summing up all things, and as They watch and write and (in supreme Humility) in some ways allow us to “write Them”…and when one of us “writes” something surprising to Them…well, it is just the richest to ponder.

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