Lagier door
by Jennifer Lagier

“Sometimes we stare so long at a door that is closing that we see too late the one that is open.” — Alexander Graham Bell

The original front entry was yellow, bore scratches,
signs of abuse by the former inhabitants,
solid wood, a struggle to open or close.

I tried scrubbing scuff marks, painting over gouges,
finally gave up, consulted with a handyman
and Home Depot salesmen for its replacement.

The first four-paneled fiberglass version
arrived with hinges and knob holes
cut into the wrong side and was returned.

The second was less expensive,
but came with correct configuration,
was installed with minimum fuss.

Now, fearing contagion, we shelter in place
behind secure portal where I give thanks
this new door contains glass, admits welcome light.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I often use photos I take as poem prompts, so this was a welcome challenge. It’s a story within a story—why and how the front door was replaced and how a door is what stands between us and the virus raging outside.


 ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jennifer Lagier has published seventeen books, taught with California Poets in the Schools, edited the Homestead Review, edits Monterey Poetry Review and helps coordinate the second Sunday reading series for the Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium. Her work appears in From Everywhere a Little: A Migration Anthology, Fire and Rain: Ecopoetry of California, Missing Persons: Reflections on Dementia, Silent Screams: Poetic Journeys Through Addiction & Recovery. Newest book: Trumped Up Election (Xi Draconis Books) and Dystopia Playlist (CyberWit). For a full list of her publications, please visit her website,, Facebook page: