Open Doors

There were no handicap parking spots when I was a child

No special doors with metal sleeve push buttons

wider and electronic to open on ‘sesame’

To bring Mom into a movie theatre my dad had to carry her

haul her sideways into the doors

plop her down in a red cushioned chair

wrap the Velcro brace around her neck

me following behind, pushing the empty wheelchair


I drive into the mini mart and notice the van pulling into the blue wheelchaired spot

My mind always back to Mom

and her wheelchair

her body draped in my dad’s capable arms

carrying her through doors everywhere


I stop to watch and see who comes out

This time, a man, who’s running

ducking his head from the rain

that hits him like bullets

I stand still

remain outside getting wet as he disappears inside

Walking over to the rust-stained van

the handicap placard still swinging from the rear-view mirror

I write on the rain-soaked window with my index finger

Die – Die – Die

until he comes back out

I walk past him

imagine tripping him as he hurries with arms full of bags

smiling politely, as I pass by

What are you looking for?