In the closet she hangs her clothes.
Gently, swiftly, she disrobes.
Coveted, loved, in the closet.
He comes back to her, her love.
A strange sparkle
Hand in glove, she loves him still
In the closet, by the window sill.
She dreams of her, sweet bliss
Sun kissed summer days
The heady haze of youth distilled
In the closet, retired now.
When will she come out?
In days of doubt resurfacing
like clouds, she is gay and proud.
Then like the wind, surrendering
beneath her skin.
The dark curtain, the sun’s bright rays
The subterranean gaze
A hurricane, disappearing in a vacuum of bigotry
Consigned to history,
she is out of the closet and into the crowd.