Adjusted to the Dark - Nov 12 2022

 

Adjusted to the Dark

Nov 12 2022

The door opens

onto the cold dark night

with a dazzle of light,

a blast of soft warm air,

and the sound of giddy laughter.

With the smell of comfort food

that reminds you of home

bubbling on the stove;

familiar aromas

that have lain dormant for years

instantly resurrected

and intense as they ever were

     . . .  perhaps even more.

As if the pressure of life fully lived

had been contained

by the snugly sealed house.

And all it took

was a barely open door

to force its way out,

expanding outward

into the dry rarefied air

of a winter night.

Not so much a wobbly tire

with a slow leak,

than an over-inflated one

suddenly punctured.

Or walking by

on the ice-encrusted sidewalk

and peering in,

the steamed up windows

bright with festive light.

Your feelings are mixed.

There's a little longing,

happiness for them,

and a self-conscious unease;

aware

that if they could see out into the dark

you'd be that guy

  --  the feared intruder

and suspicious voyeur

who makes everyone uncomfortable.

So you hurry past,

numb hands

jammed into your pockets,

concentrated eyes

fixed on the sidewalk

a few feet ahead;

the salt-stained concrete

and soiled snow.

Eyes

that are well-adjusted to darkness

after long enough

out in the cold.