Housekeeping

Housekeeping

her closet

was a secret place

of hidden treasures

the accessories of a well-dressed suicide

empty syringes

tucked between fluffy towels

to inject air into her veins

the usual pharmacopeia

of Valium, mother’s little pills,

and random scripts,

the result of astute doctor shopping,

nestled among crisp linens—

as if that weren’t enough—

a jar of pure nicotine

stashed behind threadbare quilts

folded into perfect squares

waiting to shroud her body

in the history

responsible

for her ghastly collection

            —Katherine M. Searle

                   10 Oct. 06