A door makes sense. The walls and roof make inside But the door makes it whole Even as the frame, the hinges break. The sky recedes and becomes heaven, The ground needs to be swept. A door is practical, helpful, a door is Martha Filling the bowls with sweetmeats, dates, nard. Windows are an invention some regret. Only an entrance for thieves and sneaks, Hands dragging nature, neighbors up to the glass, The oiled paper, the air that gives in and out Like breath. Windows are also for murder But we cannot do without them. We all want a view, A book we can hold before we learn to read.
About the Poet
Daisy Bassen is a poet and practicing physician who graduated from Princeton University’s Creative Writing Program and completed her medical training at The University of Rochester and Brown. Her work has appeared in Oberon, McSweeney’s and [PANK] among other journals. Born and raised in New York, she lives in Rhode Island with her family.