the door opens and swings closed so quickly you don’t notice

The door swings open, 

you look in. 

It’s dark in there, 

most likely spiders: 

nothing you want. 

You feel scared. 

The door swings closed. 

 

The full moon shines, 

it’s full of delicious juice; 

you buy a purse, 

the dance is nice.

The door opens 

and swings closed so quickly 

you don’t notice. 

 

The sun comes out, 

you have swift breakfasts 

with your husband, who is still thin; 

you wash the dishes, 

you love your children, 

you read a book, 

you go to the movies. 

It rains moderately. 

 

The door swings open, 

you look in: 

why does this keep happening now? 

Is there a secret? 

The door swings closed. 

 

The snow falls, 

you clear the walk while breathing heavily; 

it’s not as easy as once. 

Your children telephone sometimes. 

The roof needs fixing. 

You keep yourself busy. 

The spring arrives. 

 

The door swings open: 

it’s dark in there, 

with many steps going down. 

But what is that shining? 

Is it water? 

The door swings closed. 

 

The dog has died. 

This happened before. 

You got another; 

not this time though. 

Where is your husband? 

You gave up the garden. 

It became too much. 

At night there are blankets; 

nonetheless you are wakeful. 

 

The door swings open: 

O god of hinges, 

god of long voyages, 

you have kept faith. 

It’s dark in there. 

You confide yourself to the darkness 

You step in. 

The door swings closed. 

 

[Margaret Atwood {1939- } 'The Door', from The Door]