Dedicated to the memory of one of
New Orleans' most beloved poets

When I walk alone
along the streets
in unfamiliar places,
and see the doors
of houses that line my way,
I think of a house
I used to know,
and a door I lived behind.

A door that last I closed in anger,
a long, long time ago.
And now, I can't remember why.

I only know I never did go back;
though I knew someone inside was crying.

I never did go back.
And now, it's too late to try.

Jim Metcalf

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