The closets we hold/
closed/
with our memories/
and regrets/
and pain/
and anger/
and ‘what if’s’/
and “I should have’s”/

choke us,/
like an albatross/
around our neck,/
like a millstone tied,/
weighing us down,/
like a bad meal/
returning again/
and again/
and again;/
sour burning/
into our throat./

And when we dare/
swallow deeply,/
gulp,/
and open/
the closet,/
face our fears,/
disgard the distrust,/
harness our hurts,/
tame our trash,/
and purge our past,/
it’s not just spring/
cleaning./
It’s our spring/
board./
We jump./
We leap./
We soar.