A Box in the Attic
And so, another book of memories
leaves my life.
A book with pages golding already
with the fog of fond reminiscence.
A book with pages torn, to avoid with a pang
in passing, sad places to not revisit.
A few cards, a few notes, some sweet
scrawls on the margins of scraps of paper.
Some verse to remain private forever, and
a photograph or two.
Another book of memories
consigned to their own quiet
little box in the attic.
Her last words to me were
"For now, at least."
Congealing in a lonely little
box in the attic.
12/20/17 2:45 AM
© Huw Powell
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