Please don't
Collaboration, community, communion: Who gets to draw the lines?
I think poetry lends itself to listening. If you’re similarly inclined, you can do that here. 👆
I recently took part in a writing workshop with the Caravan Writers Collective centered on a prompt about collaboration, community, and communion. I found myself thinking about something surprisingly ordinary: a sign asking people not to hold the door open during last month’s deep freeze on the East Coast. What that simple memory raised for me about politeness and obligation widened into questions about boundaries, belonging and always—always—who gets to draw the lines.
What came out of it? — poetry.
Communion
The sign says please
don’t hold the door open,
politely requesting
a communal addressing
of winter’s conditions.
Cold air needles
the desk and the ankles,
arthritic reminders
in miserable fingers.
How long
until the shift is done,
until the shit is done,
until a lamp clicks on
in a familiar room
arranged just so.
Inside and out,
Seymour, Boleyn —
How soon an opening
becomes a sword,
our calculus of belonging.
Please don’t.
Are you a door holder? How many cars get to merge in front of you before you’re done playing nice? When does politeness start feeling more problematic than helpful?
Boundaries are necessary, but they can also feel arbitrary. I’d love to hear what’s percolating for you after reading this. Sharing your thoughts in the comments not only helps me see new perspectives, it also strengthens this community.
If something resonates, please take a moment to interact. If it sparks a memory, a question, or a feeling, let me know. I read and genuinely appreciate every comment. Every like, 💚 share, or restack ♻️ helps reach readers who might enjoy this conversation, and it makes a real difference in keeping this space alive. Chicken Scratch remains intentionally free, powered by community, and given an essential boost by those who choose to support it through paid subscriptions.
Afterward:
I’m including this section as a way to turn reflection into action, if you want. Each week, I’m sharing one small, concrete way to raise your voice, because sustained, visible engagement is one of the few levers we still have to influence the world around us.
Try this:
This week, consider volunteering with Just Neighbors, which provides legal and community support for immigrants. You don’t need to be bilingual to help with tasks like outreach, events, or admin support. Or get involved with the League of Women Voters to support non-partisan voter education and registration efforts. Even small actions like attending an event or sharing resources can make a meaningful difference in fostering a more inclusive community.
~Elizabeth
In this time of transition to who knows where and orwellian double meanings, your writing about raised questions of ordinary and emerging new circumstance feels familiar.
Ordinary seems like the most wonderful place to be. The sublime Ordinariness of mutual consent and cooperation for the benefit of all. Yet, new authoritarians threaten to hold the door any which way they want, your comfort be damned. Not polite at all.
Your poem gets right to the heart of that polite compact. But I confess, I was unsure about the reference to Seymour, Boleyn. So I took a dive... to be reminded of the line between Jane and Anne and how they each navigated Henry's royal whims. They each seem to have been true to their own selves.
Fascinating, how Ordinary gears shift, keep true.
Please do.
Thank you, Elizabeth.