The Doorbell Rings

The Doorbell Rings

If I had a doorbell

My eleven year old self

Would ring it while I was reading

A book by a Buddhist advisor

What do I do with the feeling

Of being interrupted

I'm expecting a visit

I discover the doorbell 

Doesn't work

Graciously inviting me

To knock hoping I'll

Come open the door

Or should I just turn

The metal know to find me

Opening I instantly recognize me

But I squint turning my head

Back and forth

Up and down

I've seen my face my whole life

But I've never seen my old face

From eyes at eleven years old

I'm fourth or fifth grade

Old me is seventy-some grade

There is instant fear

I tell him to go back only

To return tomorrow

Neither of me

Knows what to say

He/me walks down the ramp

Head lowered just a bit

I/him close the door

My eyes wide and stunned

The couch finds my back

My eyes find that book

Thus endeth the lesson 

Barry G. Wick