Wardrobe
In my Wardrobe
There are clothes hanging down
From a rail
Packed tightly, running out of room
Some old, some new
Some cared for, others neglected
I part this curtain of livery
And step behind
Behind there are boxes
Wood, cardboard, plastic
Of old stuff
Most far older than I myself
Am
Gadgets and antiques
Shining and dull in equal measure
Dust covered, long ignored
Each with a story that could sunder
Any human heart
But those stories
Will likely never be told
Likely never be heard
Past these boxes
I press further
More boxes
More stories
An old mirror
Cracked in a thousand places
Drossy with mineral waste
Showing an impure
Unsure
Backscattering of our world
Of my world
Deeper still I go
To where it’s darker
I light
A spluttering torch
Itself a story
More compelling than mine
Lifeboat rescues
Mountain rescues
Soul rescues
The torch shows me
Things I had forgotten were in
My Wardrobe:
Photographs of men and women whose
Clothes and expressions tell me they lived
Long before
Daguerre and Fox Talbot
Others of children standing
In front of impossible structures
Below skies of two, three, four moons
Or too many stars
Or not enough
Of Saturnine rings
Rainbows in space
I pass a deep pit
Of snakes
Running my light over as I go
Vipers
Greens, reds, yellows, blacks
And dark, dark blues
Mean, red-eyed
Hissing curses and bronze age proverbs
Hungry for the kill
Sliding between the bones
Of past quarry
Unlucky fucks
Fucks who deserved it
Fucks like me
I leave them behind
Far behind
Till the hissing stops
Fades into the past
And silence returns
My torch tells me
It’s dying
With a final overbright
Flicker
A stellar death
And a slap in the palm
It’s dark now
Dark as pitch
But it’s ok
I’m nearly there
I blindly drag
A moth-eaten
Time-eaten
Sofa
On which a baby was once born
From its place of long rest
With a protesting squeal
And scrape
Of wood on wood
I rest now
On the out-of-place sofa
Breathing heavily
Heart pumping
For reasons not concerned
With exertion
I sit a while
And look at the small square
Of golden light
Set into the back wall
Of my Wardrobe
It’s a pretty sight
No doubt
In itself, on its own merits
It draws the eye and invites the senses
To explore
But behind that
Behind the golden light
There
There lies
What I am looking for
© Liam Power 2021