The Doorstop that Couldn’t Stop
It started with a whisper: “We look poor.”
She said it tenderly.
She worked hard every day to make our space feel cared for. The least I could do was replace our doorstop — a forgotten object, past its prime, overlooked but still used daily.
The old brown wedge
had given years
to heavy doors
and hurried people.
The little cheese wedge
now gives joy
to tired halls
of public servants.
I showed my sister, a public school teacher.
“We have that same doorstop,” she said. “Same condition too. Tired.”
And there it was.
Not just our doorstop.
A whole category of things still working, still worn down, still holding open doors.
