The Lockless Door

The Lockless Door by Robert Frost

It went many years,
But at last came a knock,
And I thought of the door
With no lock to lock.

I blew out the light,
I tip-toed the floor,
And raised both hands
In prayer to the door.

But the knock came again.
My window was wide;
I climbed on the sill
And descended outside.

Back over the sill
I bade a 'Come in'
To whatever the knock
At the door may have been.

So at a knock
I emptied my cage
To hide in the world
And alter with age.

I've always been called by halls and doors.  This one called to me in New Orleans, not the most beautiful or ornate, but oddly compelling.  I stumbled on this Frost poem the other day, and remembered this picture.  I finally understand the poem -- the narrator's isolation and fear, how he would rather brave the New England winter than see whatever is knocking.  Forced into the world he leaves his cage and goes into the world.  We never do know what it was knocking on that door.  It can't have been too bad because the door was unlocked and yet it knocked.  Maybe it doesn't matter what gets us out of our isolation and back into the world,  Maybe it only matters that we do.