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-

giving noose.

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

too pushy.

Maybe if you let the clocks forget

the time they’d have more company?

Maybe you just need a better broom?

Picture found here