Maggie Loved Together

Asleep or not, she knew and
she’d stride to any closed
divider, sniffing to know what’s on the other side.

Some days she’d scratch out her
“Hello?” at the foot of a closed door.
More forthright, she’d
Woof a “Hey You” toward the out-of-reach knob.

Maggie’s stare – part embrace and part lament – said
people, I adore, are in there and
not right here. I want us all in one room
together.

Overnight guests never overslept.
Work-from-home calls never went unbarked
when doors were closed.

With time, the doors would open,
uniting her people, and she’d sleep near the feet,
half awake
and watch doors.

With time, slamming doors failed to arouse her ears.
Her eyes couldn’t verify.
A door, a wall, a chair.
Are there people to gather?

Divided. Devoted. Door closed.