A Poem: A Room

It is small. My box. Well thumbed.
It is a door I enter, shut behind.
Sometimes I must stay there until I can breathe.
Put down the things I handle overmuch.
Come up for air.

It is small but roomy for the
Way it stretches back, and forward.
History in the things collected, polished,
Placed on the shelf.
A box, a door, a room all my own.

Everyone needs somewhere to go.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
June 2020


6 thoughts on “A Poem: A Room

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