Doorway

At the doorway,

I stopped to look in,

watched the others playing, running,

did not let go of her hand.

The teacher, gray hair,

came over to explain.

My mother kneeled, a kiss, her voice

like morning in my ear -

and then, without warning, I'd

crossed the line. A hand at my back,

I was ushered on, four boys, building blocks,

the clack of maple on maple.

Castles, they explained: Build castles.

I turned to look behind.

The doorway was empty.

My hands were full.

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