I heard the screen door slam
in my head, not angry, just lazy —
the workaday world suffocates
in the forest, rootless, unable
to press itself on its inhabitants.
Hearing the slow creak of the rusted
spring echo up to higher branches,
mix with the bluejay’s caw,
one might guess early morning,
perhaps dusk. What is important
is not the time, but the in-between,
the truth on both sides, only half.
Rest in the sound of the rusted
spring partly bouncing off the leaves,
the night sky, the morning rush,
the chilled lake breeze if it comes.
Poems from in between 
4 responses to “I heard the screen door slam”
Oh, the wonderful way you play with different sides of the story. The workday world suffocating, unable to press itself…how nature acts on the man-made, rusting springs, appropriating the sound into its own song…you so cleverly and successfully deflect the ugliness of humanity with a wry touch
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Thank you — I am glad it made some sense to you, it barely did to me. 🙂
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I imagined all that passes, all that is oblivious to the closing of that door, yet is significant, because passing through the door leads to that world.
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Beautiful. Thank you for bringing yourself to my poem.
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