Gary L. Whited, Ph.D.
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In this Body

There are rooms
that close their doors.
Years pass

and a breeze moves through.
Maybe it was the look of that man
with red hair and heavy hands,

or the woman crossing the street
with the soft fingers
and far away stare.

A door blows open slightly,
the hinges barely agree.
Behind that door

there’s a small child
who wants you
to call him by name.