There's a dusty old box,
way up high,
it seems like worlds away.
It sits on your shelf
a reminder of things done.
An obnoxious snowman pattern
coats it.
A memento of Christmases Past,
Present and Future.
Reaching
straining
fingertips to touch it.
You pull it down, off its perch
and blow away the dust
like some kind of dramatic soap opera
except
you have a coughing fit.
Lift the lid to a sea of riches.
Scraps of papers
and A+ stickers litter
the bottom.
Notes from your third grade
best friend
and
a peach pit you used to
wish on for good luck.
A lego brick spray-painted
silver, from the robot costume
you out-grew six years ago
hides in one corner.
Silver glitter is splattered
on the icicle-themed paper lining,
but you notice none of that.
What you notice is sat on top,
balanced precariously like it
will fly away,
A carefully folded paper bird,
made by toddler hands.
Your brother taught you how
to make them
one rainy afternoon,
a lifetime ago.
He told you the legend
of the thousand paper-cranes,
and you feel in love
with the idea of the wish.
Five years later
you had made a thousand
cranes, folded on napkins,
gum wrappers and more.
The best received prime spots
on your night stand,
volleying for position.
That year your brother
went away to collage.
He came back at Christmas,
tall
tan
and different,
box in-hand.
You took it right away,
but though it oddly
too light, too empty.
The wrapping revealed
a snowman encrusted box,
and that showed a single
paper-crane.
The wings were un-even
and there was a cranberry juice
stain on the head,
but you recognized it;
that five-year old crane,
a little worse for the wear,
made on a rainy day,
a lifetime ago.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Assorted Fruits
PoesíaPoems That I've decided to write. I wanted an artsy-fartsy name;it really doesn't have anything to do with anything.
