Denise Gilchrist

The Armoire

I saw it in House Beautiful,
in 1989—

a French Country cabinet
in Saturday morning light.

It was mine in another life—

soft white wool,
scented pine,

a mom in green wellies
handing me
roots of iris in July.

I still see the armoire
in the breezeway of my mind

and yet, I’ve never opened it—
as if it’s packed

with starched linens,
good scotch I don’t drink

denim overalls,
a lace teddy

folded satin
for a wedding dress

the deed to a country place—
but all I want

is the ceramic wizard whistle
set on the brown windowsill
over my old kitchen sink.

I tossed the white, bearded guy
in the dumpster
after my first marriage.

I want him back,
like the years
of my life
I thought were sad—

I want to fill the hollow chamber
with my steady breath.

I want to hold
in my cupped hands

my sweet pea vine,
my black lily seed

rooting
in the dark.

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Denise Gilchrist is a poet and ikebana artist living in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Eclectica Magazine, Caesura, Anti-Heroin Chic, Paterson Literary Review, Gentian Journal, and The Woodside Review, among others. Her poems often explore memory, objects, childhood, and the strange aliveness of the past.