Splinters and Chalk Lines

We stand here at this door, old wood, new stain,
shine like eyes, sky, or glass, this frame, a well
worn arch, reveals some kind of wonderful,

rippling inside, along floorboard,
with applause and cheer in crumbs, dust, and small
objects children use to imagine, build,

or chew on. This narrow one way in, door
open and out we spill onto the porch,
into the front yard, where neon chalk lines

map-like messages, remind us to draw,
write, or speak kind words, scribble life beet
and blue, smear and stick, even in the rain.

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Categories: Writing

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