Boxes

Sitting in a small space

On the carpet of a little bedroom

Packing my life up

In boxes, moving into another season

In this box goes the clothing

I wore on a first date that still sort of fits

Unlike the one I wore them for.

In that box are the keepsakes

Awards and trophies, mostly for

Knowing and performing the perfect song.

In this box are the shoes that

Have traveled the world with me –

the flip-flops I wore the

Last time my feet felt the ocean.

the sneakers that tasted

the streets of England and Italy.

The high heels that walked down

The aisle when my best friend married her

True love – the same pair

That followed the casket that carried my daddy’s father.

Packed up and taped down

And carried out of this place.

In this box the letters he sent me

From far too far away

The post cards from places I wish I could have seen

with my own eyes.

In that box are the books that

Carry me so very far away

Engulfed in the images

That hold me close for hours and hours.

And in that box are the notebooks

And the journals and the lyrics

To all the songs and all the stories

And all my thoughts and all my queries

The drawings, the sketches

Those things which helped me heal.

…

And in this box are the things that

I know I can’t take with me.

My fingers brush the edges

Before I tape them down.

The pictures, the outfits,

The curtains, the little things that no one else knows

The stories that bear their pricelessness.

And in this box are the prayers that

I’ll hold onto until they’re answered.

In boxes with flowers along the frame.

And in that box are the praises

I never want to let go of.

Thanking a God who loves me so well

Wrapped up in boxes

Packed up in boxes

Stacked up on boxes

Stored up in boxes.

Sitting on the floor of

A blue box with chocolate trim.

No longer my box

But an empty space for someone else to fill.