At The Door
All actors look for them-the defining moments
When what a character does is what he is.
The script may say, He goes to the door
And exits or She goes out the door stage left.
But you see your fingers touching the doorknob,
Closing around it, turning it
As if by themselves. The latch slides
Out of the strike-plate, the door swings on its hinges,
And you're about to take that step
Over the threshold into a different light.
For the audience, you may simply be
Disappearing from the scene, yet in those few seconds
You can reach for the knob as the last object on earth
You wanted to touch. Or you can take it
Warmly like the hand your father offered
Once in forgiveness and afterward
Kept to himself.
Or you can stand there briefly, as bewildered
As by the door of a walk-in time-lock safe,
Stand there and stare
At the whole concept of shutness, like a rat
Whose maze has been rebaffled overnight,
Stand still and quiver, unable to turn
Around or go left or right.
Or you can grasp it with a sly, soundless discretion,
Open it inch by inch, testing each fraction
Of torque on the spindles, on tiptoe
Slip yourself through the upright slot
And press the lock-stile silently
Back into its frame.
Or you can use your shoulder
Or the hard heel of your shoe
And a leg-thrust to break it open.
Or you can approach the door as if accustomed
To having all barriers open by themselves.
You can wrench aside
This unauthorized interruption of your progress
And then leave it ajar
For others to do with as they may see fit.
Or you can stand at ease
And give the impression you can see through
This door or any door and have no need
To take your physical self to the other side.
Or you can turn the knob as if at last
Nothing could please you more, your body language
Filled with expectations of joy at where you're going,
Holding yourself momentarily in the posture
Of an awestruck pilgrim at the gate-though you know
You'll only be stepping out against the scrim
Or a wobbly flat daubed with a landscape,
A scribble of leaves, a hint of flowers,
The bare suggestion of a garden.
David Wagoner's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (At The Door by David Wagoner )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- To an Athlete Dying Young, Alfred Edward Housman
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye
Poem of the Day
- Ode to the Cereal Bowl: after Bukowski's.., Frank Avon
- Reflected Inspection, Kela LewisMorin
- Clean Plates, Frank Avon
- One Of Many, Kela LewisMorin
- Purpose, Kela LewisMorin
- Love, Kela LewisMorin
- What Is Right?, Kela LewisMorin
- Happy New Year, Kela LewisMorin
- 01 - A Little Talk, George Hunter
- Belief, Kela LewisMorin