The Talk About the Gun

Door tells me that my gun
has returned from a hiatus.
"The creak and clunk know
who open and who close.
The noise will tell you if you listen."
My mother taught me.

Does the door want my gun inside?
Does it want to say clouds are gathering
near the bay and I should embrace
myself for a bad spell or, with luck, a change?

We remember certain lessons, proverbs
heard from our mothers, follow what we cannot,
regret when remember after our actions.
We must act thus, wreckless, deviant
from the wisdom. How else will we weave
a net of events askew from the patterns of the past.

I know, mamma, it is the gun at the door,
albeit unlike him, whose name we say not,
I won't let it load my chamber of thoughts
with cold weather, dry time, and an impending war.