By S.R. Fergi

——

Let into your shadowed room the hallowed traces of light,

Natural, ever-reaching, that 

Cast off twins of doubt and depression. 

Gracelessly they will flap and curse.

Give them no roost to land.

Ho! The door knocker now falls; a gentle guest

Wishes to be let in, but you

Changed the locks, didn’t you? 

Peek through the hole if you must, but you

Know well this kindred spirit, even if you 

Wipe your name and change your face. 

She will bow to not bump her crown on the threshold. In slender arms she 

Carries wrapped words you continuously 

Forget: can, possible, will, and shall. She

Beckons with twinkling eye for you to

Receive and return them to your vocabulary. 

“Why must it always be this way?” 

The words stumble out and you realize they

Came from your own lips, and with them tears long dammed from daily necessity. 

“It can always be better,” says Lady Hope. 

You two sit awhile and share tea, and Joy,

That effervescent whistle of a spirit,

Cocks her head from the inner chambers of

Your being and begins to hear music again:

The song of childhood dances and 

Shrieks of glee as you made spaces bright,

And ran through a home where two parents

Had long ago given their own Hopes up to

The monotony and madness of 

An uncaring world. 

Let into your shadowed room the traces of light. 

There is dancing to be had and Joy to be 

Roused.