shadow

Vintage Door

A poem.

Vintage Door 

We saw it angling
 from a dumpster,
 solid, richly paneled,
 still wearing its
 brass hardware,
 incongruous
 amid the garbage –
 as if a twist of the
 knob would reveal
 a room finely furnished
 and trimmed in gumwood.

   It took both of us
 to pry it out and
 bring it home. Charlie
 hung it where we'd
 needed a door,
 marveling at its fit.
 I rubbed the dark wood
 with an oiled cloth
 imagining it just crafted
 and this the finishing
 polish to highlight
 grains of the tree.
  Sue Wunder

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