by

Poetry: The Door

Syn stands softly illuminated
in the shadowy doorway
between our worlds. “My
child,” she says soothingly

sweeping stray strands away
from wet cheeks. Tenderness
drips thickly—honey-sweet
sympathy for mortals stuck

between justice and wintery
injustice. Her pale eyes
see what fleeting control
looks like—its slippery

eel texture slithering deep
below angry waters. Desperate 
hands grasping slimy weeds 
pulling pulling pulling toward 

bright metamorphosis or crimson 
death. Knowledge lays within
clear moonlit waves, torn
by ravenous ravens screaming

mine, mine, mine. Ancient
battles. Wood grains worn
from violent pounding, brass
doorknobs forcibly turned. Set

against it, Syn pushes
back. Roaring, she melts
man’s killing machines, burning
trigger fingers, plucking prideful

plumage, tearing it apart
piece by piece. No
mercy for hateful truth
slayers—Syn doesn’t forget

weeping mothers or irate
fathers who hide clenched
fists behind unshaven blank
faces. “Be still,” she

whispers, standing inside cracked
door frames, palms held
in silent prayer. Forever
guarding mortals from ourselves.

*Syn is the Norse goddess of watchfulness, truth, and doorways. She guards the door of the Fenislar (Friggs palace) refusing entrance to those unworthy. This poem is my latest attempt at processing the injustice around gun laws and mass shootings.

39 thoughts on “Poetry: The Door”

  13. This is such a stunning write, Bridgette. I love the whole thing but especially these lines:

    ” pulling toward

    bright metamorphosis or crimson
    death. Knowledge lays within”

    Love how you personified Syn. And that’s a great door image too!

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

  16. Thank you for sharing a lovely poem!!… do not feel helpless for you can join others and make your thoughts heard and in time wisdom will prevail…“I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples.” ( Mother Teresa) … 🙂

    Just continue to let your fingers do the walking and your heart do the talking and until we meet again..
    May the dreams you hold dearest
    Be those which come true
    May the kindness you spread
    Keep returning to you
    (Irish Saying)

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

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