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It is stuffed full with thick, shapeless coats,
this narrow closet
you’ve been banished to.

Feel your way through the royal
blue mothball-soaked car coat,
the scratchy tasselled poncho,
the soft, frayed jean jacket.

Push back the elegant
camel-hair overcoat,
the black leather jacket,
the yellow down parka,
as if they were window curtains.

Stubbornly hook
a few inches of territory
on the dull metal pole.

Hang there.

Fence in your homestead.
Look straight ahead.
Stonewall the homesick wrench
you’ve learned to ignore,
the trapped unsung longing for God
that has become your despair.

Turn to face the glass.

Stare critically at the dismal reflections.

Must your miss everything?
The memories of displaced princes.
The secrets of princesses deposed.
Hearts dripping with the juice of apples.
Clouds of gold.