The door
By Patrick T. Reardon
Child of the Century
only lacks the North
Wind, a sparrow in the
eye of the raptor.
Lizard scratches across sand.
The door opens one
thousand times,
wind, soil and blood.
A kind of vulture plucks
the fifty strings, mice dance.
A red-gold butterfly holds still.
Each step, the jade floor felt.
The wood wall carving was
larger than life, restless dreams.
Patrick T. Reardon
5.3.25
This poem originally appeared in Voices Unbound: International Poetry Anthology, published 5.2.25.
Written by : Patrick T. Reardon
For more than three decades Patrick T. Reardon was an urban affairs writer, a feature writer, a columnist, and an editor for the Chicago Tribune. In 2000 he was one of a team of 50 staff members who won a Pulitzer Prize for explanatory reporting. Now a freelance writer and poet, he has contributed chapters to several books and is the author of Faith Stripped to Its Essence. His website is https://patricktreardon.com/.