The Closet Door














Closet door, your hinges creak,

Your timeless efforts open and close.

Inside you hold a menagerie

Of things well used or yet to behold.

Relics from a time gone by.

A box of pictures, letters and cards.

Slowly, not to stir the dust

Of its blanket, covering all our yesterdays.

Looking through each container.

Every collection goes back,

Exactly the way it was found.

Holding the doorknob into the day,

Giving one last high pitched squeal.

Smiling softly we touch the old boards

That make up this time capsule.

Until we turn the nob,

Going back in time once more.


The Photo Poet, Leslie L. Howell ?2019

 

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