It is enough that you closed
the door, which had only ever
been ajar to begin with.
It is enough that you prefer
smooth, succulent new growth,
I, ancient redwood groves.
It is enough that you chose
to turn, laughing, toward those
who do not know how long
you took to buy
one black jacket.
You will tell the story of
the door you closed, though
you will say it opened.
You will learn to love the fruits
of summer, not only their
fragrant spring blossoms.
You will turn, laughing, toward
those who know how long
you took to buy
one blue jacket.
It must be enough that they,
not I, will be there.
(c) 2014, by Hannah Six
(In the interest of full disclosure: This poem is adapted from an original poem I wrote in 2011.)
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