The Door

In the season of Lent, our church is in a series called Broken.  I'm reminded of broken families and the overwhelming pain that exists in homes across our communities.  


The front door is painted a fresh coat of white.
Potted begonias on the left and the right.
From the sidewalk, life seems alright.
Behind the shades is a soft yellow light.

Next to the lamp is a girl on the floor.
Curled up and wounded down to her core.
Her daddy said, “I don’t love you no more.”
In the kitchen he bellows a whisky roar.

The front door is painted a fresh coat of white.
It covers the inside and all of its plight.
But truth can’t be painted and put out of sight.
The back door is open; she slips into night.