Submitted by Sarah Connor
Passing through this doorway
is an act of remembering
and of forgetting. On this
threshold I stand poised
between the two.
Back then, there were magic
doorways that led
to wonderlands. I dream
of passing through,
from this dull monochrome
to glorious technicolour.
Right now, time becomes space,
space becomes time:
the living room is full of my childhood;
somewhere in the kitchen
there’s a sleeping baby.
In an upstairs room,
my younger self is standing,
looking out across
another city. Waiting
for life to start.
My grandmother presses
a crumpled note
into my palm, and whispers
urgent wisdom.
Back then, there were dark
doorways that led
to underlands. I dream
of passing through,
from this mad technicolour
to the bleak purity
of black and white.
Photo Credit: Edward Hopper – Rooms by the Sea
Vita Brevis Press. 
I like the sleeping baby – I like the grandmother and the crumpled note – I like the imagery invoked by this piece. Thanks
I like the remembering and forgetting and the door marking a transition.
This is one of those poems that stays with you for its imagery.
Reblogged this on The Biblioanthropologist.
Just beautiful. Haunting in a way.
Doorways of the mind. Lovely and thoughtful.
Nice! I can relate.
You capture the ambivalence of memory very well 🙂
The imagery is finite and put me at your side. Nicely done 😇 congratulations for being published.