“Boxes”
by Lauren White
Tucked away in my closet
There are boxes, inconspicuous
The first is labeled “Things”
My old graphing calculator
Other dusty, miscellaneous nothings
Shall I call it my metaphorical attic?
Safe are the items I thought I’d need again
The things I thought I might want later
But have forgotten I possess
Next is the one with “Stuff”
“Feel better, buddy,” on an old ziplock bag
The scent of Snickerdoodles long gone
Remember that time I was in the paper?
Old laughs, randomness, and stupidity
The stuff that I was gifted long ago
That the givers do not remember
Then, there’s the “Ideas” box
It contains all the cut out recipes
For things I forgot I wanted to make
Oh, you thought it held my eurekas?
No, nothing so special as that
Only the ideas I did not acknowledge
The magic I have suppressed
Lastly is my box of “Secrets”
Journals and notes I’ve written to myself
About Versailles, lost loves, people I once knew
How many poems have I not finished?
Scribbles, fantasies, and incomplete stories
Secrets bled from my veins into words
That no one will ever read
They have one commonality, those boxes
Stifled by lids, reserved for silence
In the empty spaces unfilled by trinkets
Listen! Can you hear the whispers of the past?
There are ghosts fighting to be free
Intermixed with the future I fear
The intangible me I cannot let anyone see
Under years-bred layers of lint
Born of trepidation and negligence
The things and stuff I cannot let go of
The ideas and secrets I cannot tell
A glimmer of my hidden heart
I beg you! Unearth me! Open me!
Let loose my passion, my authentic soul
Tucked away in my closet
There are boxes, inconspicuous
Tucked away in my closet is me