The Door May Narrow

It begins quietly, almost imperceptibly. Desire stirs — a move toward a job, a dream, a love, a chance — and for a time, the way seems open. The horizon widens, clear and promising, as if life itself has said yes. The welcome feels sincere, the invitation real.

Then the limits come, subtle at first, then sure. Conditions surface—small, but firm. The space closes, its limits sharpening. A question rises and lingers: was the door ever truly open?

This is the space between hope and hesitation, when promises sound different up close and kindness comes with limits. Time reveals what fails, and what remains.

---

The Door May Narrow

(a poem)

By Kerry Ann Wiley

Welcome wears velvet gloves,
but the fingers tighten.
An open door,
hinged with fine print.

Every yes arrives with a receipt.
Freedom out of stock.
Hope on back order.
Please hold.
The voice will return.
The answer may not.
Thank you for waiting.

Help comes,
but never enough to stand on.
A hand extended,
measured to the inch.

Still,
beneath what is denied,
a truth survives:
life without measure,
worth without witness.

The door may narrow,
but presence widens it.
Even in silence,
a will remains,
unmeasured,
unacknowledged,
without witness,
without permission,
whole.

As the door closes and the offers begin to fade, the space that once welcomed starts to shrink. What felt open and full of promise now narrows, its welcome beginning to recede. Yet something remains—intact, unmoved.

In the narrowing, what cannot be taken is revealed. Stripped of what can be diminished, what remains comes into focus: presence, steady and immediate; will, resolute and intact; truth, no longer obscured.

When all else falls away, what cannot be taken is revealed.
Stripped of all that can be lost, presence sharpens—steady and immediate.
Will remains, untouched by what has fallen.
Truth emerges, no longer hidden beneath what once concealed it.
What remains is not broken, but whole.

---