A Small Blue Box
A small blue box of reasons why
she holds closed in both hands
and carries it to all the places
where she lives her own life.
Up high on a shelf almost out of reach
she places it carefully hidden
so it cannot be seen by those
who stumble into her life
And then are gone, leaving her
with the crumpled sheets
and half-remembered memories
of a living body that held her
But not too close and only for a while
and left her bed growing cold
before the day’s fingers
had even crept under her curtains.
She knows it is not much of a life,
which is why she keeps that box safe
hidden from all those prying eyes
that would open it and see
just how empty her life really is.
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