The Boy Who Carried the Family Door

I read in a book that when Chernobyl happened,

People were told to vacate their homes

But a son carried their family’s door.

That door bore their memories.

The wood was an imprint of their souls.

They felt it, they saw it, it was part of them.

So the son, against the warning,

With the door on his back

And severed memories of their beloved home

Behind him

Cut through the bushes.

O, I cried.

That door was radioactive:

Dangerous yet a beautiful tragedy

I would have done the same

To carry memories with me

To grab the door- knob that my great grandfather’s fingerprints

Lie spread.

To feel its grains, its dents and curves and smell it.

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C) Salem Lorot/ echoesofthehills 2017

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For Poets United’s Midweek Motif- Door