The Boxes We Keep Sept 3 2023

 

The Boxes We Keep

Sept 3 2023

I think of the boxes we keep.

Holding articles

torn from the paper

now brittling with age.

The assorted mementos

that would be inconsequential

to anyone else.

The snapshots

you waited to catalogue

until it got too late

to remember when.

In the back of the closet

in a dusty corner

in perpetual dark,

shrouded in spider silk.

You never revisit them

life moves on.

But still, they have followed your every move

no matter how far.

And after awhile

you almost forget where they are;

like a dutiful servant

so good at his job

you never notice him.

In the fullness of time

you may or may not look.

But then, who really knows

when their time is full?

And what meaning

will these boxes contain

when you've passed on?

Disposed of

like the rest of the stuff

no one's likely to want.

No illusions of posterity

for a realist like you,

yet for some reason

you need them nevertheless.

Because it's the having

that matters,

the knowing they're safely there.

Objects

and documents

remember better than you.

And the simple act of possession

somehow gives meaning

to all that's become of your life.