The Closet I thought of writing about a closet; a poem I will write then keep on the outside Of my thoughts to share with others And me, who I might express Inner things from the small, sometimes Dark spaces of mind, much like my closet That I, at times, keep closed from the world Of many closets, where other minds Like and unlike mine, hold onto things They think they need but dont Things they need to let go of, but cant Because those things are memories That, at times, beg to be released But wont because loss like a mirror Is harder to look into than held onto And, in some mysterious way, like a crystal Or stone, if held onto long enough will bring Back what was lost like all things packed Away in the closet. My mind holds onto Closet things, things that close the mind Off even from itself, like compartments That preserve the concealed desires And dreams that perhaps remain inside And never like snow get off the ground Or outside and onto the ground of experience Nor the one desire that craves to unconceal The closet things and open itself to the light That brings with it like steps a view of all there Is to offer to make this life a bit easier-- to reach The cupboard or change a bulb, clean a window Hang a rack, roll out the vacuum to vacuum the rug Take out the basket to load the wash-- Or lift out the photo album, with presence And care, and slowly look through a history Of snapshots--of an old garden an old house An old relationship where two people deeply In love grow the garden, hang the racks, change The light bulbs, vacuum the rug, and make Love while cleaning out the closet. --PL
Posted on: Fri, 01 Aug 2014 13:09:22 +0000
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