Through the wardrobe

For years you have practised sitting meditation at this

solid, long limbed, tall as an ancient oak, door

imagining what it would be like

to cradle a cast iron promise

to toy with the possibility

to hold the key

that will raise the pins, create a shear line,

allow movement, and then entry.

You have it now

and measure the weight of it.

Caress and fondle it.

Slide indulgent fingers. 

Up and down. 

You trace the throat and the collar

feel for the deep grooves on the nose,

where the front limb bends slightly in

towards the centre cut of the bit. 

You have been a locksmith in waiting

learning how a key and a lock

work and wear together.

This lock was strongly made:

there is complex warding, double tumblers

and sliders arranged for maximum security;

it has withstood neglect.

You place the heart bow on your lips.

You exert firm pressure as the blade

enters the gate of the keyway

and compromises

an ancient inner sanctum. 

You stand at the threshold.  Here is the view

you waited for; what you wanted.

This is what you will find.

© Sophia Roberts
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