:: wutznu :: poetry :: photos ::


:: prev :: next ::

the closet door popped open this morning
and all the varied things
i had stuffed in there over the years
came flooding out
like a raging, tormented sea

the house is normally swept clean
the furnishings are sparse and well kept
the sun shines in to reveal
not a speck of dust or dirt anywhere

still, from time to time
i'll find various items
lying on the floor
on the table
hanging from the lamp
and puzzled
i'll ponder from whence they came
but not too long
and then quickly
remove them
and carefully
with my shoulder to the door
stuff them in the closet

out of sight
out of mind
in the periphery
in the past
no longer part of who i am
no longer a thorn in my flesh
joy, joy, joy, down in my heart

there were no foot-falls this morning
no creaking of the door knob
without warning or provocation
someone opened the closet door
and as i ran to see what was all the noise
i again found myself neck deep
in a thousand smelly knick-knacks
i thought i'd never see again

© 2003 (14 may) john r. chase

sometimes, i really wish i could paint...