Meditation on...
The Cardboard box
The box I carry is a reflection of me.
Family photos, a timid stapler and zealous paperclips
Climb to the top.
It’s smooth surface, my lover’s skin.
The corners form a three dimensional map of,
My old neighborhood.
The corrugated lines roll like waves
My children attacked at the beach.
There is Truth
Glued into crests of undulant shredded paper.
The universe, a microcosm, within its walls.
My children acknowledge it,
Crouching in a refrigerator box-kitchen
They giggle at their pretend aprons.
This box embraces my hopes and fears. Yet, it
Lulls my senses. Memos and dingy cubicle,
Forgotten.
At the end of the day, I peel back the top layer,
My fingers crawling across its skin.
I find myself again.