Closeted
all your life you’ve seen this grim face,
always ready to burst in rage at the smallest of your mistakes,
perpetually sunk in thoughts you could never decipher,
his hands forever reaching for a brown bottle;
first you stay away, happy just to not be in trouble;
then the years make you yearn to reach out, only to be met with disdain;
and so you decide smiles-joy-connection were anathema, kryptonite;
that some people just are…shrug
you relegate him to your cupboard of skeletons,
something you can grab in an alcoholic daze,
to blame when a relationship goes wrong
years later, as you clean out the trappings of a lifetime,
you find an album with the impossible —
that familiar face stretched into a full mouthed grin;
your first impulse is to wonder if there was an uncle you never met,
then you realise, grim and grin were moulded by the same face
photographic proof battles against a lifetime of experience,
parallel universes suddenly seem more reachable,
and you are compelled to wonder about the skeletons in his closet,
the ones that morphed him into the absolute opposite…
it’s too late to ask, but the dissonance stays with you
now when the skeleton in your closet rises from its dank habitat,
at times it sports a jaunty hat, its jaw open in laughter,
you wonder all over again
at how much of a life could be hidden…
Inspired by the ever-kind Kathy Jacobs’s prompt — Skeletons in Chalkboard. Thanks for the inspiration! ❤ ❤
© Indira Reddy 2020
