The Gate Poem by Susan Lacovara

It was the last thing constructed
Just before you deconstructed our chances
Put up quickly, like your walls...


The gate swings, both inward and outward
As if the moods of you, the wind
You took time enough to hammer it's posts
Unnecessarily deep, into my soil
Ensuring it would withstand time
And tempest weather

It remains unpainted...
Purposely...
Let time and temperature color it
As time and tempers colored us

I have no choice but to open it,
Walk thru it, every single damn day
Feeling it quickly close behind me
A kick in the ass

I have laced it with scarlet begonias
Dripping down the sturdy side
Trying to make it a beautiful entrance
Not just a reflective rejected exit...

Sometimes the Cardinals come
Pretty, they perch and stare at my loneliness
They remember when we were two
Holding onto thoughts of the picket fence life
That was just beyond the gate...