Sentimental and Sensitive

The skeleton in my closet wears a virgin wool knit sweater that hasn’t fit me since the tenth grade.

Though her wrists hang an inch withdrawn of the sleeves

She’d argue it was made for her.

She will not part with it.

She brushes away any hands that undress her

Foolish enough to think she is nothing except bone

Her rib cage is a time capsule future historians would deem invaluable.

My first pay cheque

A poem from a boy I liked when I was 16

A treasure trove of miscellany victimized by a sentimental heart.

I cannot help it

I live in photographs and book margins and the last “I love you” text.

It is not enough to elegize,

I must consume

harbour my love like it’s a grudge

And God, I am homesick for her –

A skeleton that only collects dust

The latch on my closet door, no longer clicking shut

Demands to limit where my love is expended.

There come times where I crave the catharsis of her eviction.

Sweep the floors of her and begin again

But I do not know how to without evicting myself.

The guardian of my nest

The skeleton in my closet

Together we dwell in the things I cannot change