My Foot Brings Me to the Door
by John Vincent Palozzi
My foot steps on the stone walkway of the front entrance, and the stones shout to me, not saying “why are you stepping on me,” but, “how dare you step on me” and “what makes you think you are welcome at this house?” But the words elude me.
I put my foot on the stone step that steps up to the front porch to bring myself closer to the door, that is not open, but calls out to me, “go away,” and “why do you have to come here anyway, you are unwelcome and we really don’t want to talk with you and your reason, your purpose, we wish would elude us.”
My foot now to the last stone of the last step before the door, which is no longer talking to me, and the stones are silent also, as they bear the weight of me upon them, which is their duty, and I am doing my duty also as I knock upon the door, which does not want to acknowledge me, but I won’t go away. And when it opens I have no choice, I cannot elude the situation.
And my foot takes a step back as the door swings open by the hand of the middle-aged woman who does not want to hear the words from my mouth, and had wished that my foot had listened to the words of the stones in the walkway, and in the step, to the words of the door, but they did not, and brought a hand with them, which knocked, and a mouth which says those awful words of “regretting to inform you that in the service of your country your only begotten son shall now elude you forever and ever.”
