I am a metaphor for a doorway.

This body.

Standing under the transom, looking forward, turning back

The between, a what’s to come and a what has been

This inflection point, on a fulcrum

The moment the see-saw parallels the earth

June, the month of a death and of a birth

Not a circle of life but an oval.

Feeling narrow and squeezed in the middle, middle age, midlife

On either side of the doorway

A transition

This before and after

I pivot, swivel, and sink

Stepping through from spring to summer into the dewy grass

Feeling with my own hands the ashes I let go of a year ago, how gravity, force of will, love drew them together to form another perfect being

I hold her

This new body.