Thank You by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer It’s not as if the door can decide: Open. Closed. Locked. Unhinged. The door is ever at the mercy of the hand on the knob, the shoulder that smashes it, the wind that abruptly slams it shut, the smile that swings it wide as noon. Long ago, I learned every moment has a door, and that those doors never open themselves. That is why, standing here, I am astonished to see, through no effort of my own, a door swings open. And how sweet the surprise when I see on the other side of the knob, your hand.