Some doorways have purpose: Entry, exit.
But other doorways have been discarded,
only the door stays while the path is removed
or no longer visible. One wonders: What used
to be there? Or, was there
a door on that wall leading
to another room? Unless the place is gutted,
one can never know exactly
what might have been
anywhere. I had a cat once
who tore up doorjambs
after my husband departed
or when he'd appear
to get something he'd left behind,
like this cat. So the cat
would attack doorways, lacerating wood,
plaster, tearing it off, leaving piles
I'd have to sweep, or gouged out walls to patch.
I knew how he felt, but if I tried to embrace him,
he'd hiss at me, baring his teeth.
So we, this cat and I,
just had to work our way through this loss.
We were strong, we did it. I miss him
now that he's dead. Sometimes in my sleep
I call out for him.