Whispering Doors

When a door speaks like a seashell…

Words wait in the grain
Oak, cut by a Roman axe
10 centuries before, a slab hand carved to fit
one Visigothic arch over a passage, leading
to the library built by Moors,
impenetrable, wood half-a-hand’s width
and stained on a ship.

Words, too many to decipher
draft up in the alcove, a welcome (or do
they scour from the valley in warning?)
whispered fast and low, across the ear
when turned just so         listen….

But the hinge holds the power-
forged on the streets of Segovia
in war-time, the metalsmith’s
proud stamp–King or commoner’s-
invites fingers all the same, to trace
rings of power, sinews of conquest
a hand- hammered history, eternal on the anvil,
and cold to the touch

A turned key enables us to see,  swivels the way,
where wrought iron yields.
And when once one’s weight is plied in full
against that slab, the hinge abides, swings, allows
and in those precious seconds, with an ear
pressed tight against wood, one hears
words ingrained, spoken clear
when door is louder than a seashell.

Tara Linda, 2012

Author: tara linda

musician, poet, jewelry maker

3 thoughts on “Whispering Doors”

Your Thoughts Welcome

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s