Entryway
Lingering on the threshold
Rejection is a dear friend of the writer. At least, of the ones who are daring to put things out there.
Below, you’ll find a poem that was rejected from the journal it was submitted to. I thought it would be fun to share it with you all here—as a bit of a consolation prize, sure, but also as a celebration of the process. It’s not the publication that matters, not really: it’s those hours of crafting and tweaking and staring into space. And the nervous excitement of reaching out to share.
I hope you enjoy, and I’ll talk to you soon (maybe with another entry from the reject pile!).
Entryway
Shaping snowballs, forming fossils
of boot treads into slush.
Singing peace songs to the abandoned streets.
No answers here, but the promise of new questions
if we can find our way home
to the refrain that’s lying dormant.
The chorus of silence that melds with tomorrow’s wingbeats,
with the shivering stars and yesterday’s north wind.
If we can attune to the frequency—
make a home in the eye of the blizzard—
we may find harmony rising
in the humming white-noise
static of the snow.
Front step silence, rounded edges.
Damp mittens abandoned in midnight’s pockets,
cold fingers on the metal banister.
Holding loosely
to the grief of this quiet
fleeting.
Tonight will turn its back
as soon as I crest the inertia of my gaze,
attention diverted
to the familiar grind
of stubborn doorhandles and timeworn keys.
The two-note songbirds will migrate south,
and I won’t hear them ‘til spring.
The snowfall in the streetlight’s glow
is a promise like a lighthouse. Is a meditation rhythm, a mantra that feels safe
to surrender to. Relief is sweet
indulgence,
to let the analog hold me
at attention.
Hands gently cupped now,
communion palms
waiting for the blessing, faithful
against the peripheral thrum
of the hour’s next beat.