The doorbell rings
so rarely now
that when it does
everything stops,
even the dogs
become silent
watchful listeners,
and we begin
again to guess
at what is next.

The doorbell rings
and the day or
night changes,
is intruded upon.
It rings and we
look around
as if the familiar
were slipping away,
out of our control,
was lost once again.

The doorbell rings
and memories
play out again –
a policeman, or priest
at the door to say
the things they said,
this one, or that one
is dead, and life
began to tilt, teeter,
tumble down again.

The doorbell rings,
and we rise to answer,
walk so slowly, as if
delay were possible,
as if the patience of
the figure at the door,
the dark inevitable
figure at the door,
will not hold on to
whatever he has planned
for us.

2 Responses to “It Rings and…”

1. Ida Werrett Says:
   November 10th, 2009 at 12:24 am

   Wow, a stunning write. Jerry. Now I’ll be afraid to answer the door.
   Ida

2. yann rolland Says:
   November 10th, 2009 at 7:01 am

   so sad Jerry, beautifully written but so sad, obnoxious doorbell here.

   best wishes

   yann

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