Out Of The Closet Poem by Francie Lynch

When she opened her closet,
There was Jamie,
At the end of a rope.
All three twisted as the face,
With feet an inch from life.
A brown and yellow drip
Puddled the floor,
Touching the toe of worn sock.
If I can't live here, I'll die here.
Was pinned near the heart.
Stretching out her fingers,
Working fast for the unattainable,
Thinking speed and action
Could change the outcome
Of the hours old body,
Hanging,
Arms non-challantly in pockets,
Like a favorite suit
In need of dry-cleaning.