Image by Peter H from Pixabay (Pixabay Commercial License)

The Threshold

Lynne Williams
Resistance Poetry

--

The door opens.
I’m summoned in.

The door opens.
‘ Do you have doubts? Is it a hard decision? Are you healthy? ’
Indifferent questions hurled out too often.
She forgets to ask why I’m there.
But I have forgotten.

The door opens.
‘ Get undressed. Put your things there. ’
Lines ooze salt-water ice into my veins.
I ask for guidance.
None is offered.

The door opens.
‘ Sit here. Don’t get too comfortable. Don’t look. ’
Closed off from the world, young voices echo
‘ It’s no big deal. ’
‘ This is my third time ’

The door opens.
‘ Sign here. Breathe deeply. This won’t hurt. ’
Rose-gas smelling sweet like dead grandmothers’ scent.
Painless pressure.

The door opens.
‘ Don’t tell anyone we’re here. ’

--

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Lynne Williams
Resistance Poetry

Scientist and Poet | Avid Information Seeker and Computer Nerd | Oenophile