When one door closes, another opens
Until I close and lock them both
For a perception of solace.
I consider lifting my bedroom window
But the cliff off of the welcome mat
And the cloud covering the back porch
Keep me in
My mother went out
like a raindrop
between the weathered floorboards
Of the wraparound deck.
Now she is a blackberry bush
Hidden beneath the window frame
And I have yet to pull the screen
And open the window
And tumble out.
I see the berries in my dreams
And when I lift them to my lips
And the licks of their blackness
Taste of her voice.
Beside the wind-turned wicker chairs
And the artificial lawn
She lives for solace, for sympathy
But I can’t help but wonder
Tastes like blackberries