The Walls Came Down

I used to wonder what happened behind all
the doorknobs I had no right to turn, the
anonymous walls of my neighbor’s ranch houses.
I don’t know why the Prudhommes’ house squatted low
beneath oppressive dark blue lights ringing the eaves
each Christmas, nor do I expect I could Google the answer,
although the name and the place yielded 5,781 results.
The facts decayed in their accustomed ways:
they don’t exist – were never blogged about or catalogued.

The walls came down.
A friend has friended a friend.
There was an accident. A child has died. Or
They danced at their wedding to a Russian tune.
The crystalline structure, all the compartments,
the doors that represented friendship fraught and won.
The walls came down.

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