Reservations
by Kristina Woodhillthe visitor leaned hard
against the door jamb's
steady side,
a tall man, solid built,
his roots dug deep,
his hands spread wide;
steps he tread to get there
fluffed their dust,
puffed past impressions,
imprints tired like all he'd tried
to follow
life's conventions;
solid as he stood
the door stood equal to its task,
its roots as deeply held,
no stranger
to its towering past;
cheek to wood
the man leaned in,
rough finger tips he pressed,
willed his will,
boot traced the sill,
the oak door stilled his quest;
heart wood felt his
heart beats
travel finger tip to plank,
trembles like a soulful
earthquake,
shivers swelled and shrank;
blue jay left the berries,
house cat
fled the yard,
sun reserved
its setting
while the visitor
leaned hard
01/12/2012
