Large and old and oaken,
I dominate my corner of the room.
keeper of clothes, of hatboxes,
cartons of mothballed secrets,
crowned by empty suitcases,
heaved down for holidays
leaving sharp rectangles
in the month-old dust and fluff.
Best suits and wedding dresses are in my trust
capes, summer frocks, winter furs,
the whole spectrum of social life.
hang ordered to their shades.
Forgotten albums
with empty photo corners,
that once framed
grandma's yellowed memories.
Hats above and shoes below
all have their place,
and the mirror on the door
reflects your clothed consequence.
My lesser companion,
the commode vis a vis,
containing handkerchiefs
and perfumed underthings,
secreting beribboned love letters
from long past youthful admirers,
looks up to my carved cornice
with silent reverence.
If I have a hidden exit,
behind the hanging garments,
It's invisible except
to clever, adventurous,
imaginative children.