Poem in Praise of the Hinge
by Kelly M. Houle
Praise the small, the brass-barrelled, the cast-iron doubles.
Praise the spring-loaded with well-oiled knuckles.
One leaf mortised firmly to the cabinet, the other to the door,
the hinge works to ensure that two wings function as one.
Praise the binder who hands to an idea its cardboard wings.
Praise the soundness of the single stitch,
the loop of linen thread that ties signatures
together in knotted kinship at the spine.
Praise the concealed hinge that allows
spring leaves to unfold in familiar ways
when seasons do not follow plan or history.
In the presence of the unhinged, we face
the rage of the clipped-winged. The fanged, unarmed
are condemned to wag in one dimension
those dispossessed of armature cannot embrace.
The spineless do whatever invertebrates can—
bite the heads off unsuspecting mice.
The marvelous jaw that can do this was born
uninhibited by any principle of charity.
The unhinged must be gifted trust at first,
the gift we notice in the faceless
Victory of Samothrace, the leap of faith
fluttering the drapery. Her feathered wings,
upon which all successes hinge, are not attached
with paraffin and tallow. No, we’ve been waxed
before by hollow gestures toward redemption.
Trust instilled in the hinge is a trust that must be earned,
her wings were pieced together over centuries.