Wooden Door

The wood is so dark, it has to whisper
when it asks me to release my breath and
rub it hard over the wood’s surface in hopes
the polishing will soften and reflect
the lines and gashes from violence done
in times marked cold in its tree trunk’s rings.

Still, trees are known for remembering:
They hold old pain and suffering in knots,
those tangles that mark their time in circles
and cannot be easily wiped clean. Instead,
cutting words and deeds run deeper under
pressure until they sink so low, lie in
wait for someone to draw in and exchange
breath on breath in measured breathing.

Adele Steiner Brown, professor, poet, and writer received her BA and MFA from the University of Maryland.  She teaches at Montgomery College, UMGC, and for the Maryland State Arts Council.

Her poetry won awards and has been published in The Maryland Poetry Review, Gargoyle, So to Speak, Smartish Pace, and The Northern Virginia Review.  She published a chapbook, Refracted Love; two full-length books, of poetry, Freshwater Pearls and The Moon Lighting; and a writing workshop book, Look Ma, “Hands” on Poetry.