The Door

Sibyl Taylor

Knock if you will but do not linger
There is no one here but ghosts
You may not pause to catch your breath
You may not enter
You may not leave

A shock of red fabric bursts into view
It’s quickly painted with sand and flame
Pounded and shredded
Under thundering hooves

Knock if you must but do not linger
This place is dark, deep and unyielding
Dust-blown straw that swirls and tangles
Higher and higher toward his jutting jaw

A hissing spark and the grass is alight
A deep-throated roar of pent-up rage
Glistening back below massive horns
And just as suddenly he is gone

Now there are only dried out bones
An empty skull with jaw agape
The hacking cough that suffocates
The shroud that leaves you gasping

Run if you can but do not follow
That flying crimson patch of color

Knock if you will but do not linger
There is nothing here to contemplate
But the choking dust and the roar of the beast
You may not enter
And you may not leave