Poem: A Little Door

A little door at the bottom of it all
opens up and when you

crouch down to get in
it’s as vast as the sky itself

You can pick out the stars by night
and the planets by day

Get up from your crouch and
extend throughout all its heavenly spheres

where nothing is really holding us back
except ourselves and a few tall

mountains of bone and lead and
mournful voices

OK they don’t exist either


3/18/2008 (from The Fire Eater’s Lunchbreak, in preparation)

About danielabdalhayymoore

Poet, artist, collagist, publisher, hoping to save a little bit of the world through ecstatic utterance... ordered in balanced lines and unpremeditated images...
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2 Responses to Poem: A Little Door

  1. king leafy watkins says:

    Yes! I love the almost grumpy irony of this piece. The speaker in this poem is talking to himself. Giving himself a pep-talk. He knows it, believes it, has experienced it but is still balled up in that crouch. Delicious irony! So human. Yes!


  2. Dear King Leafy:

    That’s “crouch” not “grouch.” Reread your Doctor Seuss. Now I am grumpy… in an ironic sense. (The poem is about standing free, all obstacles irrelevant in the final analysis, or at the Final Door…)


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