in love

in love
there are no closed doors
each threshold
an invitation
to cross
take hold
take heart
and enter here
at this point
where truth
was once denied

hooks, bell. When Angels Speak of Love. United Kingdom, Atria Books, 2007.

Why I Chose this Poem

I woke up this pandemic morning, thinking about my phone-free childhood, when a knock at the door was the only way we had to contact someone in the neighborhood. Thinking about protocols of texting. About ghosting and vampires, vampires and thresholds, and what exactly prevents vampires from entering uninvited. Perhaps a magic force from the willful refusal to invite them in, a code of honor among the vampires, something intrinsic in the threshold itself.

I was also prompted by yesterday's poem to try to understand my affinity for Audre Lorde's work and my distance from bell hooks'. I know it's something about their poetry that colors how I read their prose. Just minutes after musing on vampires, this was the first bell hooks poem I read.

It leaves me wondering: when we leave the vampire on the porch and gently shut the door, what truths are we turning away from?