EDITOR’S CHOICE AWARD: bringing our favorite previously-published poems back to the front page.
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 really like this–time, liminal spaces, doorways from the past or opening to the future. The Hopper illustration is perfect.
Hopper is a favorite of mine–there’s always a strange frozen-in-time feeling in his paintings that reminded me of “Doorways”!
Yes, that is it exactly!
Reblogged this on The Biblioanthropologist.