That Monday in Algiers<\/p>\n
The door would not unlock. I knocked ~ timid, tentative, as if the knock Pantomine & speaking hands, fingers turning She led me through the two small rooms A small crowd of ragged boys my audience Safe within, I thought of doors & locks & keys. That Monday in Algiers The door would not unlock. No key in my pocket. No cell phone so many years ago to call my white knight I knocked ~ timid, tentative, as if the knock spoke another unlearned language, not even my resurrected Fran\u00e7ais ~…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":68,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-50007","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-half-marathon-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/50007","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/68"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=50007"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/50007\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":50078,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/50007\/revisions\/50078"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=50007"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=50007"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=50007"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nNo key in my pocket. No cell phone
\nso many years ago<\/em> to call my white knight<\/p>\n
\nspoke another unlearned language, not even
\nmy resurrected Fran\u00e7ais ~ on the silent door next<\/p>\n
\nimaginary keys in invisible locks. My neighbor
\nnodded, swung the wood and iron door open<\/p>\n
\nto a balcony, once more miming: climb over<\/em>
\nshe showed me, my nextdoor balcony open.<\/p>\n
\nI swung one leg over wrought iron filigree
\nanother to where I belonged. Inside.<\/p>\n
\nOf language. Of how so little but so much<\/em> separates us
\nwondering still how to unlock these heavy doors<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"