Door Opens Slightly, The

It is just a crack

but through it I see

a table set

with a coffee cup

and a man

with his hand

beside hers

as she stirs his coffee

then kisses him softly

as if his lips

are sacred texts

and I watch him read her

like braille

and the wind blows

and the door closes

and I stand

in the breeze

like space

between trees.

Bobbi Lurie has worked as a therapist, printmaker, art reviewer, and essayist. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in American Poetry Review, Sou'wester, Rattapallax, Rio Grande Review, The Orange Willow Review, Thin Air, Gulf Stream, Illuminations, Licking River Review, Passager, Wellspring, The Bridge, ELM, Spillway, and numerous anthologies. Her autobiographical essay, "4 O'Clock," was recently nominated for the Pushcart Prize.

Copyright National Forum: Phi Kappa Phi Journal Spring 2002
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