Doorknocker

             

Dorothy and her entourage on the front porch

wearing those ruby shoes

dinged up from yellow bricks,

asking directions, in search of a wise man,

wanting the unknown behind every door,

in every home, in every neighborhood.

Toto, provocateur, seeming innocent,

jumps from her arms

uninvited through the legs of the doorkeeper,

darting from room to room,

yapping, making mental notes

as the unexpecting jump to cover themselves.

Do you know the way to Oz?

I have to find the wizard.

My friends and I can cook you dinner

from whatever you have on hand

but we really need your help.

We could use some courage,

compassion and a brain,

a quick skip to the heart of the matter,

then back to Auntie Em,

with a Totoful of low-down

from all our different stops.

I have to know what witches and wizards

do outside of Kansas,

their tales of grist and girth.

I need to stop clicking these heels

and sleeping with munchkins,

I need to snoop through your pantry,

and break into song.

I need to hear your story.