Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Closed Doors

When tempers flare
A brand new, inexplicably blank computer screen
The dirty (and clean) clothes piled on my floor
Running too late
Or not late enough
When the animals are underfoot
And my mother goes down the list of names
Calling us first the cat, then the dog
Before she finally gets to
Her own children
Names muddled in her frustration.
When tempers flare
Words not said
Dishes not done
Meals not planned
I softly
Close my door
With the push of one outstretched index finger
Blocking out
The toxic creeping energy
Of arguments
Over such mundane things
As the clothes on my floor
And the dishes piled in the sink. 

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