The theme of doorways has been much in my mind these past weeks. Partly, this is because of the lunar eclipse on 30th November and yesterday’s solar eclipse. Astrologers view them as liminal events. When an eclipse encounters points on an individual’s birthchart they signal endings and beginnings. Or, as some might put it -a door closes, but a window opens.
My brother-in-law, Ford Rogers, is an artist. Each year he creates a calendar for family and friends based on his drawings. Last year’s was of the sun. A little bit spooky, given how the virus is depicted and the ‘corona’ element they share. 2021’s theme is doorways. Which also feels prescient to me given the eclipses and the Grand Conjunction of Saturn and Pluto on 21st December. The latter is considered an augury of the dawning of the Age of Aquarius.
Then a student mentioned that doors were a recurring dream motif.
When things come in threes, like the proverbial, longed for No. 56 bus, then I pay attention. So doors had to feature in the weekly poem.
When it came to poetry practice today I have struck onto an unconventional rhyme scheme for a sonnet. You may see me wrestling with this poetry form a lot in the coming weeks.
Solar Eclipse In the dark, not knowing, you inch towards the door at the end of the unlit hall. The door is closed. But a fall of light seeps from underneath the crack. Wait. Creep closer. Press your ear to it. Can you hear the voices? Muffled. A muttering. No distinct words can be heard. Slowly, test the door's handle. Is the door locked? Have you the heart to knock? A door closed always is waiting to be opened - onto a room, a passage, a pasture, the midnight sky full of stars and the moon, shy with its light, eclipsed. Its hinges groan. The door swings open. There is still shadow. Wait. Then all is revealed under the sun. Copyright ©Bee Smith, 2020.