It’s still there –
your house in front of the field
by the barn.
Winds under my bed blow familiar voices
into my ears sometimes
waking me at midnight.
Saved letters hold your old school penmanship
ornate and beautiful.
But your hand is gone
and no longer writes
shucks peas,
cans tomatoes,
plants daffodils and poppies
or plays piano.
I was safe when I was with you
and, now, I have made you a home in my heart
where I will hold you forever.
©photo and poem by carole fults
The Magic Closet
She emptied her closet
the shirts and the pants
the blues and greens
the browns, blacks, reds and greens
She dusted the shelves
swept the floor
closed the door on emptiness
But then when later she passed by the door
she saw it open and bulging
with more things
stories in clothing
shoes filled with poetry
coats billowing
filled with memories
Life keeps her closet full
and may it be so while she lives
a bottomless source of fables, tales and metaphor
waiting to be heard.
by caf
Photo and Poem © Carole Fults
Inside-out Art and Writing 