Each of these doors opened in succession:
the moon, the three stones on which we set the pot for soup,
the opium pipe, the remarkable hill,
the lime kiln, the suitcase, a piece of Sulphur candy.
Why are ladies like arrows?
What tree is nearest the sea?

Answer (doors, conundrums), love and I will promise:
three fishes, three fruits, three mushrooms,
and ginger for your tongue and mine.
Senseless, tell me what you will have me do.

Thinking. Oh, do not think whether it were best to leave.
We are our own weather. We are Orlando Furioso,
the Catalog of Women, the Pillow Book, Mahabarata.
We are not Troy or Roland’s Valley.
We are finer against each other than
a watchmakers fingers trueing a barrel, trying depths by touch,
or facing pinions until time flies. Bring the Jubilee.
Bring tall buildings. Bring childhood’s end, and we’ll go
in and out together, all undone.

# # #

Devon Miller-Duggan has published poems in Rattle, Shenandoah, Margie, Christianity and Literature, Gargoyle. She teaches Creative Writing at the University of Delaware. Her books include Pinning the Bird to the Wall (Tres Chicas Books, 2008), Neither Prayer, Nor Bird (Finishing Line Press, 2013), Alphabet Year, (Wipf & Stock, 2017).

Photo: Cocoparisienne