Behind the Door is a Metaphor

Image

Little Red Riding Hood wearing shoes, stepping through balancing on pins, holding on to handles in case the latch breaks and the garden gate swings shut, accidentally locking Goldilocks out while she’s peering through foggy windows vying for attention, except she’s standing on tiptoes wondering what went wrong wishing she was back behind a red door out of the cold, flying like Dorothy clicking her way upside down, looking around for a place called home behind a blue door, where fish peer out from holes in shipwrecks inside a fishtank looking outside into my world, wishing Ariel was a shark that ruled the universe with clown fish laughing behind closed doors ordering sushi, just so she could meet Sponge Bob and go out on a date in a restaurant behind a green door seated in a corner watching everyone stuff their faces on pork bones and rib cages smothered in red sauce that sticks to the side of her wicked stepmother’s face, picking breadcrumbs and gingerbread between crooked teeth, eyeing up the shoes hiding behind a wooden door in an attic where Cinderella keeps her mice, making it impossible for Alice to find the key to a parallel universe where her doppelganger is one of three fairies destined to raise Aurora into a raving lunatic behind bars, until a knight in shining armour sees her hair and hoists himself up into a flying machine, snatching Rapunzel before she ends up covered in thorns, talking to a teapot and candlestick waiting the hills to come alive, just so she can close the door and her eyes.
© Copyright 2019, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Polishing Pearls

image

Photographer: C.J. Kale
Photo used with permission

healing time

this mindful interlude.

children soothing self-

fish seven second

memories

and I gulp.

hold my breath

and blood eyes bulge.

my mouth

a clam. shut

tight swallowing.

sinewy tentacles

constrict – squeeze

life. giving

up on the surface.

too far away to escape

drowning. my own

tears like Nemo’s

fin flounder. no

Gill to trust

courage to find

gems in the dark

depths. blind despite

a heart

the size of

an ocean. rogue

waves propel me against

the grain. grinding

in to sand. washed

sea dust; bleached

clean white coral. spheres

of soft step-ping silicas.

I spit out. waiting

for a hand

full of perfect polished

pearls to appear

out of no

where. wisdom

shell sheltering

a hermit.

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’.  All Rights Reserved.