Busy Hands

Pulled every drop of clothing from the closet
Untangled each shoe and belt
Yanking forth to the living room floor
to sort and organize and groom
Jackets, scarves, knick-knacks and what-nots
Realizing how much is stored away
like a manic squirrel in winter terror
Anything and everything to keep
from remembering,
from empty idleness seeping through
Busy hands fighting back insistent thoughts,
ignoring the bullet hole
A lead lodged so deep
there is no removal-
You are not coming home,

but at least the closet is clean

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