I have been bursting at the seams to just do something other than school. Thankfully, we only have 7 days left, and I've finished all my projects up to now - but that still does not mean I have been sitting pretty with the whole "spending seven hours of my life" thing. However, I will just pray that this week moves as fast as I believe it will and look towards a summer of crafting and personal time.
My mission is to consolidate myself; focus on the creative and work with less. I amassed a lot of stuff during the years due to either creative ventures or packrat habits. So, in focusing on a new era of my life, I am moving away from the old clutter and towards simplicity. I really like having space in my room these days. But, enough about all my plans, now on to some writing!
I found a memory box that was in the living room (which is code for "kept away from J's crazy cleaning episodes") so I really wanted to write a poem about it. Unfortunately... it didn't come out as well as I thought it would. Oh well, life's a journey! Here it goes.
Ode to a Missing Box
In small spaces
Where old papers are often shoved
In the attic
Or basement
Or closet, untouched
The minute hand ticks
Raking in the moments before...
I pass out these gifts
Collect wizened acorns
And jaunty hair bands
Bring buttons, umbrellas, letters, and crayons
Back to life
Then send them, once again, to silence.
When does a memory
Stop being an object?
When I close its doll eyes
And press it snugly to sleep
Thence it creeps
From the glowing vibrations of being "now"
Into the immeasurable heap
That wide expanse
Of teal papers, crimson hats, empty promises,
Shrugged shoulders, sighs and rats;
"What were you thinking?" comes to mind.
My mystery box, a missing box
A wickerwork/cardboard/metal creation
The lazy foundation
For the years after the formative years;
Youth ignores you
Not callously, but without guide
Big boys and big girls let you dwindle and fade
Jobs now, babies, and still getting laid
But!
In the waning years of our ever-waxing moon
We wish to unearth you
Remember all your details, plot holes, and character devices
Like all those pleasant novels that we heard about when we were kids
Sometimes...
We seek out the embrace of stuffed toys
The cardboard-bound books
The makeshift craft fairs and first attempts
(Then, of course, we curse ourselves for not being so diligent)
You open for us
That whole hidden world
Missing box, mystery box
Shoved away in blank spaces
Reappear on blank pages
Save us shame later by exploring us now
(Who's to say what's adult anyway?)
We crack open your lid
Shake the dust from your sides
Bring you close to the eye...
And let the moments before pour out every last drop
The spell has worked!
Mystery box, missing box
Now we are free...
I am grateful for...
Being able to take a zine class at Richard Hugo House! On a whim, I asked my dad to sign me up and now I'm going to learn how to bind books; I always do better with an instructor. Go dad!
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