Knock On All the Doors
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

Give me a number between one and ten.
Closest gets a ride on a tiger. Doors don’t
fail to open. Some just don’t want to open.

Others don’t trust your judgment,
but railings are good on high, winding mountain
roads, and while some would say all roads

lead to perdition, I think all roads lead
to gardens we’ve yet to design,
and along the way we go from immaturity

to maturity, and back again, and, anyway,
children lead Buddha by the nose, and he laughs
with delight. So, go on—pick a number,

ride the tiger, knock on all the doors,
assert your existence, release the rebel
in you. Your breath abides everywhere,

and anyway, when the past, present,
future, and you walk into a bar,
the bartender’s gonna ask: “What’ll it be?”

And they will look at one another and answer:
“Yes!” Leaving you to order fried pickles,
and to begin making sketches of gardens.