from “The Mythology We Have Now”
“Click,” I said to the latch.
I knew where I was going
through the door and its apparatus.
The lock and latch, long time
between the closing and opening.
But I can’t remember
any thick of heat—it’s January
and the trees cast slant beasts
to the blank snow beneath,
limbs bewitched with twilight.
There are doors one stands before
and waits for ever.
Kathleen Jesme is the author of four collections of poetry: Meridian (Tupelo, 2012); The Plum-Stone Game (Ahsahta, 2009); Motherhouse, winner of the Lena-Miles Wever Todd Poetry Prize (LSU, 2005); and Fire Eater (Tampa, 2003). Jesme holds an MFA in creative writing from Warren Wilson College.
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