Hidden among the blue and yellow
party frocks, near the rear
of the closet, beside
the seldom worn black suit
they hang in wait, trying to escape
or do they prefer just to hide,
teeth chattering, hoping never to be freed?

The heavy, oxidized chains, so old, that wrapped
around her, held her down
begging to be loosed. She held
her own key that could set her mind free.
But no, instead she chose to lock
away those skeletons, the secrets never to be told.

Don't rattle them bones I was told
when occasionally I would ask
of her past when a word or two slipped
from her pink-tinged lips,
just enough to raise your hairs
of curiosity, then clamp tight her mouth
and shove them skeleton bones
back inside the closet.

As all of those who knew the truth
passed away, my only hope would be
a death bed confession,
but it was not to be as dementia
crowded in her head, tainting the memories.

Now those skeletons are forever dead, buried
with their keeper.