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Picture

In mourning

It was no more
than a chance of birth
that made you
“my” country

But here I am
living and crying
and others
just
dying
Within what the map tells me
is the confines of you

I want so much
so much
to love you
to believe in the promise
such promise
that elementary teachers
tell us
is true

But my heart
my heart
no longer believes it
and all I can do
is mourn
and mourn
and mourn
and mourn


Threshold

Picture
Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock

The click of the key in the lock 
the doorknob turns 
and a thin line of light wedges its way across the floor

My folks always locked the door to their house, always, always, locked up tight!
 Even just heading across the street to the park 

Click!
Make sure to lock the door behind you.

In my childhood room, I always insisted upon the closet door

Open. 

Because only when shrouded by particle board pine did mysteries arise,
like some sort of Schrodinger’s monster

The door to the wardrobe led
  (eventually and sometimes)
to Narnia

And Alice had to creep through a tiny door to emerge into Wonderland

Answer a riddle and fool the guard
to gain entry into a fantastical new world

Of course
You have to leave the old one behind first


(originally written for "At the Threshold" choreographed by Josephine Garibaldi)

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