24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Boxes of memories on every shelf.
Whole lives she’d
packed away.
She didn’t dare open them.
She had moved on.
But she couldn’t face the loss.
Until one January
in the cold light
of the first full moon.
She emptied the closet
built a fire
and watched her memories
go up in smoke.
Closets
Small, enclosed rooms
Used to store:
Used to hide:
Things that should never be in closets:
The leaves are already changing
transforming from their summer greens
to fall’s oranges, reds and browns
Birds are migrating
Squirrels are foraging
Hot summer breezes change
to crisp October winds
days grow shorter
the nights grow longer
the sun’s warmth fades
It’s the season for pumpkin spice
stews and soups to keep you warm
pumpkin and pecan pies
apple and peach cobblers
time for Halloween when
witches and zombies roam the night
telling jokes to collect their candied pay
candy corn and cornucopias
Thanksgiving soon approaches
and fires will be crackling
It’s the time of year to settle down
to lay back and relax
to snuggle cozy under plush throws
sipping piping hot mugs of cocoa
watching family movies
spending more intimate family time
It’s the season for closeness
clothes that snug you, sweaters
and boots and overcoats
Fall is almost among us
Starry Night (Poem 8)
Tonight,
I’m letting go
Tonight,
I’m giving it all up
Tonight,
I’m going off the grid
Tonight,
I’m away from it all
Tonight,
It’s gonna be just me and the stars
Tonight,
It’s about self reflection
Tonight,
It’s about me
Tonight,
It’s about finding happiness in a new way
In response to image prompt number 8
Running naked through the tall grasses,
no shoes,
no breath,
no exhaustion,
no thirst,
no thoughts,
Just this hunger,
drenched and clinging to me,
I could attempt to peel it off,
but I keep chasing –
everything else intentionally lost or left behind,
wilting and forlorn
I would have cared before,
I would have walked or even turned around,
but now I run and run and run.
steering clear of any still water,
avoiding all reflections that may show me the truth of what I have become,
a beast on the hunt for something that will never nourish me.
Closets
Twelve
TW for incest/childhood sexual assault
I’ve never been one to hide my queerness.
Nor my heathen faith
I understand the safety many find within closets
How hiding themselves away from the world prevents injury,
Wrapping up in the comfort of conformity
I, too, escaped abuse in hiding.
I spent a childhood peeing on old clothing
In the back of your bedroom closet
Trying to avoid walking past my father’s hungry hands
Sneaking the soiled pieces away as best I could so young
While he spoiled the best of me
Year after year
But closets only served to reinforce the shame
And he was going to take from my innocence
regardless of where I tried to hide it.
So I’ve never been one to hide myself away
How could I imitate conformity
When closets never protected me to begin with?
I am moving.
My two-bedroom unit is no longer mine.
Walk in closet, big coat closet, two bedroom closets—and pantry.
Gone.
I will have one bedroom.
One closet.
Kitchen cabinets enough—
if I part with all I hold dear:
Grandma’s Depression Glass.
Family photos, Bible, albums.
A presentation flag of remembrance of a dear friend.
Baking pans and mixer and cookie cutters.
Genealogy research going back to the 1300s.
Memories from when my children were small.
History books.
Poetry books.
Old notebooks with my scrawl of words and gardens.
Garden tools and books.
Christmas treasures that make December festive.
And then—maybe—I can fit the necessities,
flashlights and can openers, toasters, and rainboots, mops and snow shovels
into lifeless chasms—great gaping repositories.
But they bring no joy, no life, no hours of good thoughts.
My closets are depositories of what makes life good.
And soon, they will not.
depression’s daughter, i should not be surprised
at what you find worth keeping:
oranges, toilet paper, salt shakers,
mail, important but unopened,
a few hundred sets of stale oyster crackers–
neat rows near but not touching
photos of your children when they were children,
the way you now see them, and whom you desperately miss.
White blends with black
Lines like flags atop the sea
Eyes peek in a stare
The brush dances, twists and curves
A seamless burst of beauty
I once hid in a closet to scare my sister
She screamed so loud it sounded like a whisper
It was fun to be mean
She jumped like a bean
And hit her head so hard it became a blister