On my way into work early last week, driving my usual route, a few backroads through some pretty suburbia (one of the reasons I take this way and not the main way) I noticed this one house, like really noticed it for the first time though I pass it every day. It has a striking red front door, how it hadn’t really caught my eye before I couldn’t tell you but, no matter, it did on this morning.
I think it did because recently I went to visit Mom in her assisted living facility for Mother’s Day and something about this red door seemed vaguely familiar, like maybe when I was kid we lived in a house behind a red door or maybe it was a red house?
So, this then is for Mom, who lives behind her red door in a different sort of house now, two of them.
I try bring some news.
Love ya Ma
–
Behind The Red Door
It fronts a house
Once center
Village open welcome
But
Floating hazy now outskirts
As doors don’t float but do
Lost in trees tall tangle roots shoots forest grasping edge of the old gathering square
Where voices were there
Their songs sung in unison
Once
They did declare!
High up into the air!
—
It’s a house with a red door
Please knock to tell something
Sell something
Even
Needed in
Village’s
Villager’s stories
All shared
But
Through bay whispy window tissue thin doilied curtains now floating like ghosts gently pushed aside
(mind you move away ghosts!)
To glance out
Please knock to sell me something
Tell me something
Are you the paperboy?
Do you have the news?
Have you heard of Linda?
I worry
—
It was a house with a red door
Open
Of many room’s
Thoughts
Lived
Loved
Grand castle with Nobles and Ladies
Knees bent
For wisdom’s grace
I have words
Had words
Want words
Can you hear them through whispy bay floating window tissue curtains now?
Through whispier lips?
Behind the red door
Kind ghosts
But ghosts still
Oh, go away ghosts, shoo!!
—
Are you the paperboy?
Have you some news?
—
It’s a house with a red door
Flashing in
Out planes
Existence moving on wheels
Now
Through tangled grasping forest root shoots long hallways
Of village
New sort
To sort through and around in time lost
Trapped
Behind the red door
And …
So many different other colored doors
So many different castles
So many doors
—
It’s a house with a red door
Closed
No, ajar instead
Instead
Maybe can you see
Me
In
Through
Whispy bay floating window tissue curtains like ghosts?
Oh, go away ghosts, shoo!!
Please!!
—
Are you the paperboy?
Do you have some news?
Maybe of Linda?
I worry
frankenberrysattic.com 
Buenos días 🌞
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It’s funny how we notice things like front doors, which evoke memories whithout us realising it. I like the way the red door led to your mother, Stephen’. I really like the repetition and these stream-of-consciousness lines:
‘Floating hazy now outskirtsAs doors don’t float but do’and
‘Through bay whispy window tissue thin doilied curtains now floating like ghosts gently pushed aside’.
These lines in particular reminded me of my mother:
‘Please knock to sell me somethingTell me somethingAre you the paperboy?Do you have the news?’
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Thanks so much Kim. And the stream of conscious thing was initially intended but then I thought that maybe that is how she might think then so …
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You’re most welcome, Stephen.
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Sorry Kim, that should have said the stream of conscious WASN’T initially intended …
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Love the way the red door captured your memories and that of your memories, the poem and the repetitions also made me think of my own mother and her dementia.
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Thank you Bjorn. Not the easiest of writes.
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The house with a red door is a striking feature, and indeed many stories to be told. I like the conversational tone, specially the repetition of the Are you the paperboy?.
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Much appreciated Grace, thank you!
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