closed door

glazed wood

locked handle,

slipping floor.

slammed shut

barrier solid,

my mother sits,

in her closet.

my mother sitting,

encased in walls.

my mother sobbing,

in her palms.

not coming to the door,

not answering my calls.

sitting,

steeping,

filled with rage,

my mother soaks,

in her dark cage.

Emerging dry eyed

not a glimpse of pain,

but I know it,

as she knows it.

Her smiling face,

is nothing but,

a shamed masquerade.