Knocking

This winter was especially cold

Though spring had come weeks ago

The magnolias are still coiled

Like a heart averse to loving again

I wanted to apologize to you

Because I realize now that you have been knocking

But I could not hear you

Above the snowstorms

The hail

My rocking chair

The crackle of the fire

The shivering branches against the bones of our home

My own sorrow

I am an old man

My hearing withering like November

I must have been glaring at the fire in the hearth

Unblinking

Unwarmed

Thinking of stories that ended too soon

Of things that do not matter

But this is no excuse

I am sorry I did not hear you

I’m sorry I did not hear you knocking

It must’ve been cold

Unbearably cold

And it hurts me to picture you rapping at the frayed oak of my door

In vain

Your tears crystallized by the cold

Mine by the coldness of my own heart

To imagine you frostbitten, underdressed, yelling, weeping, begging for me to let you in

That it was unbearably cold

And that you just wanted to drink magnolia tulip tea with me in the other chair that never gets used anyway

So we can tell each other stories with better endings

To warm each other through the night

Please

When the fire went out for the first time in seven months

As if going to sleep

I remembered the contours of your countenance in the ashes of dead birch

How when I was gazing at the hearth during the winter months

I must have been wishing I could stroke the worn edges of your forehead that dip down into your cheek like a sudden lick of flame

Kiss the lips that once warmed me like fire never could

Hear the rustle of your breathing

Crackling against the winter of loneliness

I opened the door finally

But you weren’t there

And the magnolias won’t bloom

And the magnolias won’t bloom

And though the sun is now glaring

I am still cold

And I am still cold

I know this is how you must have felt

And I’m sorry for not opening the door

But I wanted to let you know it is open now

And I’ll never again let it close

I’ll be sitting in my rocking chair

I’ll have made you tea the way you like it

Left a pile of stories on the place where you used to sit

Before we were greyed by years of snow

I have left the door open

And I’ll leave it open through all the winters to come

Even if it becomes unbearably cold

So if you choose to come back

You’ll never have to knock again