The Box

The box rests solemnly
on the dusty rafters.
Musky brown sides
bound by broad tape,
with red prints of wine glasses
labelling the cardboard
and intructions of
"This way up"
so that nothing is ever broken.

Inside rest my childhood memoirs;
frozen snippets of time,
that may be momentarily forgotten
but never lost in the wilderness.
An abandoned board game,
an unloved teddy bear,
a piggy bank, a Matchbox car, a bag,
a collection of unusual stones
clustered in a wicker-woven basket,
and a shoe box full of junk,
that I just cannot bring myself
to throw away.

In future years
I hope to revisit.
To unleash the comforting smells
and fond memories
of my life as an infant.
But for now,
it shall rest there
forever overhead;
my box of childhood toys
in the loft above my bed.

[April 1999]