Instructions For Opening A Door
To open a door, you must want to leave.
A here, a there. You must want.
Stuff pink hyacinths in the dictionary
between “lie” and “lightning,”
the wet stem of spring curling the pages
until it is not a flower
but just the word for it. We all die,
but the hope is to die of living.
Slam it hard enough
to make the sidewalk hum
the way your blood hummed
the first time you walked into the sea.
A door is just a question you have to ask
even when you are scared of the answer.
In San Sebastián they pour the txakoli
from high up so it foams in the glass.
Sea, grapes, the word for longing.
Use both hands and don’t look back.
from Instructions For Building A Wind Chime by Adriana Cloud
Needed a kick in the butt this afternoon? You’re welcome.