The Door
by Ester van Zuylen
Sometimes my heart is an open door
through which the wind blows in the dirt
from the street
and all the stray cats
There are treasures to be found
among the rubbish on the beach
There are tears as salty as the sea
to wash away the hurt
and the dirt
and smooth me down
like the pebbles on the beach
When the blowing becomes scouring
and the salt bites my skin
I close the door
and let nobody in
© 2003 Ester van Zuylen
