Michael Mendelsohn

The Open Door

Click, Clack, Click, Clack,

Left, Right, Left, Right.

The man, shrouded by himself,

Glides slowly up the hospital stairs.

Through a window, the bronze sun,

Severed in half, by the earth and sky.

He departs from the fate-sealed pane,

Only to pause before another glass wall.

Sleeping in snug little beds,

Babies lay peacefully at rest.

He strides with a hurried patience,

Along corridors of lifeless rooms.

A single glance reveals

The barest landscape of all.

An old lady kneels

Beside her ancient husband.

A newly quickened pace ceases,

With one look through the open door.

His wife lays motionless,

Consumed with a silent pain.

With an expected shock,

He gives a first and last embrace.


Copyright © 2002-2011 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2011 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission.