Ready to Find the Door

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Sunday Muse # 93

I caught the key the crow dropped when she paused

to eat my heart.  I wait for it to grow

back in the sun that squeaks through concrete walls. 

I landed harder than expected from

Alice in Wonderland.  She fell slow-mo—

but a tall building is no rabbit hole.

I need a heart to shrink ego and flesh,

so lie here in the street watching my soul

frolic with passersby she seems to know.

Impossible!  But there she goes, touching

strangers’ hands and dancing with abandon.

I cannot find my voice to call her back,

so she plays while I burn in quiet pain,

re-growing a working heart.  As if

this was the purpose all along:  To meet

a crow.  To give my heart.  To feel it grow

back slowly safe and sound, stronger, braver—

ready to find a door that fits the key.  

My blog poems are rough drafts.
    Please respect my copyright.
 If you quote, credit this page.
  © 2020 Susan L. Chast

If the Door Fits

Sunday Muse # 92

If the door fits, hinge and hang it.

We must keep pasts where they belong.

Sea shells in desert. Gods on foot.

No.  Hide them before they corrupt.

Youth are susceptible to words

rumor, images and science—

In truth, I am, too.  If something

has dried to death, it must have lived.

Plato predicted we’d have to

hide poets, playwrights and thinkers—

at least their imaginations—

from all but philosopher kings.

And time has come to lock the doors,

walk in straight lines, stay on dry land.

And when youth challenge us, close ears,

close eyes, close hearts.  Eat sand for bread.

Think of Jesus as Pied Piper

leading our children astray.  Though

many of us have paid the price,

neither past nor future exist.

When the door of knowledge is locked,

we’ll be left among the guilty.

We’ll have silenced little chickens.

Still, we’ll be safe with our today.

My blog poems are rough drafts.
    Please respect my copyright.
 If you quote, credit this page.
  © 2020 Susan L. Chast