The Doors

The doors of our house are ajar,

one of them is my space.

My door is always shut.

It’s cornflour blue, the paint chipped

around the edges.

The other doors remain slightly open,

they are sinking slowly into the ground.

They cannot shut.

Go and open the doors, explore the world

outside

to a new freedom.

Push when it says pull, just in case.

Don’t forget to put your coat on,

and wrap up warm.

The garden is a wild place, filled with weeds.

It is only a door, a portal to another place,

other beings or just the human race.

Without the door there is still a doorway,

an opportunity to pass through,

and investigate. I am proud of these doors.

Home is where the heart is.

...

Elspeth Crawford (Grassmarket Community Project)