The old screen door is silent now
no kids running in and out,
no one to let it slam.
No one yelling about the flies
No one left to latch the door
while mother mops the kitchen floor.
No lights behind at night to draw
the moths straining against the wire
No more darning left to do on tears
where mosquitos dared to squeeze through.
There’s a special kind of music missing
from storm doors and security locks
the squeak and slam, the running feet
the yells of ‘back before supper’
to the chorus of daddy’s ‘damn door,
I’m going to remove that spring’
as mother flinches and shudders.