Wednesday, 1 July 2026

A Poem a Day (745): Sliding doors

 
 
Sliding doors
 
You find vision switch in echo,
flick red betwixt the sure and the maybe.
 
If someone says you can come inside
you wonder if they really want you to step
into the void between you and them,
feel the gap close, the subtle burn
filling a space once empty.
 
He welcomes you in, to choose,
and you pick without thinking,
but shyness locks you in yourself.
 
Mirrors reflect or blend truth,
so you may see through a glass darkly,
but walk away too shy to look back.
Yet you feel it, this shift, a new skin.
 
It’s not the great glass elevator spiralling
into an open sky of happy endings,
feeling like an opportunity missed.
 
A box of moving endless curves,
it reflects a guise of a chance,
becoming a runaway thing you wanted,
this man you never got to know.
 
It’s a memory a-linger, drifting, smoke.
Pictures unseen slip, live a secret life unnoticed.
A child laughs, snug in their pushchair,
too innocent to recognise ghosts in the dark.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, June 24, 2026


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