The Country House poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry

Did the door move, or was it always ajar?

The gladioli on the table are pale mauve.

I smell pale mauve and blue,

Blue soft like bruises-putrid-oozing-

The air oozes blue-mauve-

And the door with the black line where it does not shut!

I must pass that door to go to bed,

Or I must stay here

And watch the crack

Oozing air.

Is it-air?