The Old Manse

The house of pain has got to belong
To God, if you’re someone who believes
The old saw, When God closes a door,

He opens a window. That’s for sure
The way things go in the house of pain.
Shut all the doors to all of the rooms

Known for housing aches, and sure enough
Someone’s left pain an open window
To climb through. Quiet the abdomen

Of cancer. Lock up the entryway
To the halls of the vertebrae. Still,
Pain crawls back in through a twisted knee.

There’s always a draft through cracked mullions,
Haloed, stained-glass faces among them.