The Rooms of My House: a poem

How to explain the door at the top of the stairs?

How to explain the door at the top of the stairs?

This structure is finite.
Walls of brick
laid years ago
enclose this living space.

Surely, I know my own home.

Then how to explain
the door at the top of the stairs,
hidden 
until this moment?

The handle is warm.

With a simple twist,
a gentle push,
it gives way —

to a hallway I’ve never seen, with
doors I’ve never touched, an
entire wing of doors, opening
to rooms I didn’t know existed

One by one, I discover — 
the ballroom where I will dance,
the spare bedrooms for weary travelers,
the library, sunroom, gallery & more — 
all vast, all vacant.

I beam.

For there is no doubt
what I will do — 
I will fill all of the rooms
of my house

with love

If my writing moved you, please consider clicking the green heart below and sharing. Thank you! ~MPM