This poem was among those read by George at the Winnipeg launch of Indians Don’t Cry.
When I Walk Through Her Door
as a house cat rubs
against my pant leg
upon my coming home
after a journey
she comes to me
and though I could
get by without
such welcome
she still does this
every time
when I walk through her door
as a younger sister crying
in the night stops
upon being awakened
from a bad dream
she reaches for me
and though I did not
think of
such a need
she always does this
each time
when I walk through her door
as a nurse helped me
through the time
when I almost died
from a stabbing
she holds me steady
and although I know
I could survive
without such support
even so, she knows
when I need her most
when I walk through her door.
George Kenny
Posted by George Kenny
December 17, 2014
Categorized as Author Posts
Tagged aboriginal, george kenny, literature, poetry
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