“Hesitations Outside the Door”
— by Margaret Atwood
I’m telling the wrong lies,
they are not even useful.
The right lies would at least
be keys, they would open the door.
The door is closed; the chairs,
the tables, the steel bowl, myself
shaping bread in the kitchen, wait
outside it.
I found this short thought provoking poem yesterday and couldn't help myself to post it herre.