Don't Let The Door Slam Shut Poem by Edith Niemeyer

Don't Let the Door Slam Shut

Open the door, Grandma—
don't slam it shut.
Don't let it slam shut.

For in this little girl's eyes,
what awaits
is more precious than gold.

Inside, her heart is breaking,
for somewhere deeper...
she truly knows—

That is her sister.

Is that my sister?

The question lingers
longer than a New York minute
within her minds eye.

For in her big brown eyes
there do appear
glistening tears,
shi m mer ing
down her cheeks.

May I go?
Please, Grandma.

For this small heart may shatter
at the echoing thought—

Don't let me miss this chance.

For happenstance had given
a CHANCE,
raising its wicked head
against all that had kept
sisters apart.

And so—

taking that first little step,
she wears her thoughts
upon her sleeve.

Across the concrete porch she travels,
down two little steps
she had grown accustomed to,
down the pathway
toward the street.

Past the huge forsythia bushes—
ever looming, they did seem
to one so small.

Then—

that sharp turn left.

Up the road she went.

Each and every movement
transporting her
toward something
she could have yet named.,

yet somehow
already knew.

A scene commences
even now—

for time has not erased
the porch,
the steps,
the pathway,
the towering forsythia,
nor that little girl's hurried journey
up the road.

Each footfall becoming
a revalidation
of something her heart
had questioned
and hoped to be true:

Factually
, sisters' had she.

Not imagined.
Not wished into being.
Not merely a little girl's hope.

Sisters.

And somewhere ahead
stood the answer
to the question that had lingered
upon her furrowed brow.

Is that my sister?

One more little step.

Then another.

Her destination drawing nearer,
while behind her

the open door remained—

and before her,

a sister
awaited.

then,

Embracing
Sister.

And they each know

this chance
taken...

Has given

Back

My Sister.