My apartment door didn’t need painting
until overspray dotted it into pointillist
dream: dark blue muted to lighter shade
with off-white spray. My irritation rises
with the heat, missing friends, missing work.
I check other complex buildings–we share
oversprayed doors. The painter is done
in fifteen minutes–it’ll take longer to dry.
“You have a red door,” he says. I can’t mask
surprise, have to look, see a new brick red
portal. My understanding shifts–my door
did need painting. This door is portal
always to greater beauty and insight–
I need only open it.
Andrew Shattuck McBride
“Portal” is my August 15th poem for the postcard poetry project. I used an antique card view titled “Tulip Fields, Western Washington” and mailed it to Marycharles M. of Fort Worth, Texas.
Blessings to Marycharles and all, Andy