MAKING WAY

She walks

thru the door.

Her kindness

holds it open

as I approach.

This invitation

creates

a cross draft,

an updraft,

that lifts, suddenly,

her short skirt.

She fidgets

in place, forces

the fabric down,

in a hurry,

with her free hand.

Such a clumsy

concierge, she is.

Only when

I’ve passed thru

does she

let the door

go, does she

run

squealing

down the hall—

her kindness

finally

making way

for another

side of self, 

shame, to enter.