Two wooden doors with hard glass cutouts
hang on both sides of this chilled room.
Screened door swings and lands
with a bang
against the metal-lined doorframe
as impatient horns squeal from
the space beyond her ancient gate.
The other one swings
on whooshs and whisps of gossip and
the frequency of bells and buzzers
from damp green counters
to an intricately carved
dining table
with its sixteen solemn chairs.
The sunlight in this room
is always white.
Rays stream in at dusk
to rest on two
frostbitten
childhood treasure chests.
A race to the X.
Six little feet tapped
slid along bleached tiles
charged into doors
to arrive
at intended destinations.
Without the key.
Ran.
Knocked furiously.
Turned brass doorknob.
Stepped into Lola’s room.
It smelled like
air-conditioner air,
helmet hair hairspray
and talc powder.
Jumped.
No, climbed six steps in total,
three for barely-worn shoes,
one for party heels
two for never-worn designer.
Retrieved gold key from curved copper finger.
To unlock two treasure chests
of chocolate-covered icicles,
lemon-coated cubes,
shaved ice fruit,
mixed-milk particles.
...
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