decisions, my great-grandmother said to me
Everything don't need to be told. Some things must.
I knew then but not when I would write
poetry, for the poet stands outside a locked
door and rings the bell once, knowing that
once can mean always, that one more is too
much, that just enough opens the door
of the page onto a mirror where beauty
and ugly show up, unreconciled,
where what it feels like to love and be loved
is seen, that place between don't and must tell.
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