Maybe if you just dust up
the linen places, warp of whim,
woof of faceless ignorance –
the spaces forgotten and forlorn –
this closet could breathe again
its four season’d air?
Maybe if the hanging things of dappled hue
were reminiscent of something more than
Draconian memory, stuck in reverse
but high-waying and fog-heavy?
Maybe if those picture frames were big
enough to house more than a single
face? Now, they just huddle in face-
less corners, waiting for the life-
Maybe if the epaulets on those padded,
big-girl shoulders were strong
enough to bear more than their own
weight? At least that’s what the closet
partners say. Instead, those renegade
fabric funsters greedily march the other
way while mold builds, where moth lives and rusty
hinges of busy-body clocks got
Maybe if you let the clocks forget
the time they’d have more company?
Maybe you just need a better broom?
Picture found here