The Doorknobs

by Krista Rossi

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The divided doorknobs hang in their coffin,

seeing no sight of their shared possession

yet holding onto their grounded halves.

 

While a bright brass braves the light

and reveals the sun, a silent silver cowers

and hides the moon in a desperate fear.

 

                        One side buried, the other exhumed;

                        One wood warm, the other bitter;

                        One knob lost, the other found.         

 

A single, right turn is all that is needed—

but how easily one can get lost among

shadows and insufferable burdens.

 

The Tree of Life, made into the coffin,

kills so it may live—only then can the

hand find the moon and turn.