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Eleven Doors

by Lisa Marie Brodsky

Because I dreamed of ten doors and behind each door was the wrong man, I climbed the attic stairs and saw you going through my trunks of papers and books and asked, “who are you?” and you smiled at me looking like a fire-touched lion and said, “the attic has a door, too” and a ribbon of carpet led my feet to yours as I floated to your side. “I’m adding to your things,” you said. I saw Mozart’s bust beside my dusty copy of “Les Miserables” and I asked you about the door again and you said, “I’m not the wrong one” – “But I’ve dreamed of 10 doors every couple of nights and they’ve all been wrong,” I said. There was a thunderstorm outside, tornado sirens.

“Get away from the windows!” I warned while I searched for my cat. “How do you know this is the right door?” you asked. Distracted, I mumbled, “This is just another wrong door, I’m sure, now where’s my cat?” –“Just look up,” you said. I searched behind the velvet curtains – no cat. “Nothing counteracts sorrow,” I whispered while peeking under the pile of fallen lace dresses. The sirens grew louder. “Doors shut in front of me.” I ran from box to box; I wanted my baby.

“Look up,” you repeated. The tornado loomed closer; I could feel the centrifugal force already. The noise approached like a gorilla roar. “Where is she?” I yelled. – “Look up!” you yelled back. I looked and you were holding her; she licked your chin. I ran over to you and relief shuttered through me as you put your free arm around me and the attic door closed like a mouth and I said, “The door closed behind me.” – “This is the right room,” you said over the screech of banshee wind and storm. I looked into your eyes and hugged my cat in your arms. “How do you know?” – “How do you know?” and the tornado twirled into the room, turned into a spiral of crepe paper and rained down on us.

06/22/2007

Posted on 06/22/2007
Copyright © 2020 Lisa Marie Brodsky

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