Family Home

The darkness in this home 
is the depth of a hall closet

where things are hanging
that haven’t seen light in decades.

Dust and mildew, but also
whatever was left there

after the last family wedding
anyone remembers attending:

the brutal one. The terminal one.
The dark ceremony with all

the strength of its memory
breaking though and overwhelming

the shields of thin plastic 
draped over the shoulders

and lapels. It’s been decades
but there’s no room for anything else,

in the house, even if the door to the closet
closes again and locks hard. 

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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