A Little Poetry on a Snowy Afternoon

The Absent Door
By Laura White

Twitching small and infinite like an unfurling sun,
Wet and wild beats the heart the battle she has won.
Strong with age and ruggedly fine
Not quite made of pine but oak.
A porthole of pain from years of denying its validity
Perhaps not really true and the heart ache isn’t real.
Looking in but never out
Outward looking but never inwardly seeking.
An entryway to dreams and schemes but plans never found fruition,
This door of childhood fantasy and ambition.