The Door Poem by Dalan Jahan

You once said—
"Leave the door ajar... I'll be back."
So I did.
I kept it open—
Through the drenching grief of
three monsoons,
The hollow cold of two winters,
And the fragile bloom of four springs.
Seasons passed,
Time bled quietly through the cracks.
At last,
I closed it.
Gently.
Silently.
That's when you came.
And knocked.
And I— I whispered through the wood: "There's no one home…
Not anymore."