Bachelard’s Cabinet

          (for Jake Berthot)

A cabinet rattles. A vague scritch
and tilt today. Other days, inner
cracking, an egg inside an egg.
From inside the house it irritates,
insists on investigation. A door –
a gag or muffler – gestures to the
latch, elegant handle curved to a
finger’s lift. When clamor within
rustles the pulse, when nothing
will die back on its own or retreat
down the path, I open the door,
think, this time I’ll quiet that hulla-
baloo in the chest, soothe with a
stroke, or a poem, or gaze of
recognition. At the instant the
handle’s raised, pulled to release
the ruckus, that racket stops. Stops
in the breath of opening, seeing
inside. Cabinet quiet. Cabinet
still. A cabinet is a cabinet still.
Until it’s shut again. Repeat.

from Storyscape Journal,, February 2012