A Poem a Day Begins Anew

This time it's a group effort. Fellow poets are combining to each produce a poem a day with a prompt of some kind. Here's my first offering.

Doors

My brother builds doors,
sets jambs to lintels.
He can tell by the heft of a doorknob

whether hollow-, stave-, or solid-core.
He tells me where we could kick through,
the kinds of pressure needed to get inside a home.

Odd to see a door apart, freestanding
in the middle of the warehouse.
It defines nothing, leads nowhere.

I ask has he ever stepped through,
he says “not ever, too spooky…
they tell me a guy vanished like he never lived

and sure, it’s whisper-talk and voodoo…
you see, walls trap a universe, put an edge on space,
pocket us away from each other but

doors are a wormhole, they’re built to be.
How can you conjure something for a purpose
and not believe it will fulfill it?

No, I never step through an unroomed door,
sleep in a still car, walk down an empty river.”