You find yourself
In a a long hallway
You walk and walk
The distant door
Feels like it will never
Draw closer

Then suddenly, your hand
Is on the knob
You turn it and walk through

And find yourself
In another hallway
You can just see the door
On the horizon line
You push forward
With every bit of energy
Making no progress

Until all at once
You feel the cold metal
Under your fingers
You twist

And you find yourself
Yet again
In an endless hallway
Doors upon doors
Leading to more
Empty passages
Dim and eerily blank

There is only one way
Or so it seems

You keep chasing
The exit
But there is always
Another hallway
Another door

You may not be able
To find your way out

But you don’t
Have to keep

If you like
On the smooth
Stone floor
Rest awhile
Lean your back
Against the featureless wall

Watch the shadows

Sing a song and
Hear your own voice
Echo richly

Draw a picture
With your pinky finger
In the dust
Gathered in the corners

You can walk again
When you’re ready
You can climb the walls
But only if it feels
Like fun

Have you been trying
So hard to get
Through the door
That you have forgotten
To feel the weight
Of your own body?

Stretch out your legs
Let those muscles recover

And the next time
You reach the threshold
Squeak the door open
The tiniest crack
And linger in that
Place of possibility

Maybe on the other side
Of this door
There will be
Something different?

What does your
In that liminal space?

Note: Last night, I found myself standing in this hallway, curious to see where it would lead. But I think I know why this happened.

Of all the poems in Caroline Bird’s ‘The Air Year’, the one I find myself turning over in my mind when I cannot sleep is Dive Bar. I feel like its echoes are still working their way through my mind and my body? It is sheer brilliance. What does it mean to have reality fold in on itself, over and over again? Where do we get trapped in our own minds – and is there any escape?

Photo by Hugues de BUYER-MIMEURE on Unsplash