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

They whir

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

If reconciliation

Tastes like blackberries

Or darkness.


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