Thursday, May 6, 2010


Some things don't stay in your closet-

hitching rides on old baseball caps
and long, moth eaten winter coats.

Those bones were thought to have turned to dust
long ago
swept away by broom or
that they had floated away,
through old walls, down dark stairways
and into a fiery furnace

In truth, many do;
disappearing into the sea of time,
taken away grain by grain
with each mornings tide

most remains,
the ones most foul and
most telling-
the ones shoved furthest away:
creep about in the shadows
waiting silently
and steadily;
and hungrily,

So when you sit at the head of the family table
you won't wonder why everyone is staring;
you'll feel the skeleton fingers running though your hair-

for no closet is deep enough.

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