What Happens When I Knock on a Friend's Door

On her open porch
I like the sound of
the wood when I step
with my heavy boots
and I like the chairs

chipped white with leaning
backs and then that one
lonely metal chair

that stands straight up with
the greatest posture,
attentive like a
Buddhist monk and I
KNOCK.KNOCK.KNOCK.KNOCK.KNOCK!

on the glass pane of
the solid door. I
am peeking in when

I see my friend's shoes
in the entry way--
red clogs that remind
me of another
friend who shared her dream

with me about how
she magically leapt
from a window to

a tree and landed
straight down to the ground
right snug into her
comfortable red
clogs just like these ones.

We are surrounded
by triggers that lead
us inside ourselves.