The Door

by

Ester van Zuylen

Sometimes my heart is an open door

through which the wind blows in the dirt

from the street

and all the stray cats

There are treasures to be found

among the rubbish on the beach

There are tears as salty as the sea

to wash away the hurt

and the dirt

and smooth me down

like the pebbles on the beach

When the blowing becomes scouring

and the salt bites my skin

I close the door

and let nobody in

© 2003 Ester van Zuylen