Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Poem 25: small spaces

Napowrimo Prompt: "write a poem that explores a small, defined space – it could be your childhood bedroom, or the box where you keep old photos. It could be the inside of a coin purse or the recesses of an umbrella stand. Any space will do – so long as it is small, definite, and meaningful to you."

*

Closeted

Purses spill from the hooks,
mingle with tumbled shoes, boots,
bags of knitting needles and empty
cellphone boxes,

pants hang on tiered racks
shoved against the back wall
and shirts fall from hangars to
tangle with random skirts 

(flotsam from another room),
yoga jackets, blazers with
rolled sleeves, a ring bristling
with belts, more shoes

in a sagging canvas rack
shoved toes in, spilling shadows
against the four plastic drawers
filled with bunched shorts,

scarves, crocheted hats,
technological gizmos strayed
from misplaced or broken devices,
a rickety punkwood 

set of shelves
holding two more rows 
of expensive tumbled shoes,
the whole mess holding its

breath under the weight
of abandoned boxes and 
yellow magazines,
secrets 

mixed with remnants,
my life with previous lives,
unknown wearers
and future inhabitants,

the entire jostling history
pushing like epiphany
(or a strange graveyard
where the living lie down

along the dead)
against my naked body
with the weight of
all the days its taken

to get here, to stand
alone and unclothed
in front of its
open door.


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