Hungry Boxes
All I can think about is hunger and moving boxes,
And I think I'm going to cry but I don't know why.
Hunger and moving boxes somehow seem to be
Metaphors for life somehow,
As if they hold life's deeper mysteries.
The boxes are scattered across my room. Empty.
I have a list of things to put in them,
But I find that most of the things I want to bring
With me don't go into boxes at all.
I can't pack the people,
I can't pack memories,
I can't pack guilty/ hollow fantasies.
Sentiment doesn't fit into a box.
When I got home I was hungry,
But as time passed and I didn't eat,
Hungry faded away, except for
an occasional gnawing pain.
So many things go that way.
Wanting, longing, desire
Dwindle into a hopeless emptiness.
Empty boxes, Empty belly,
But eyes full of unshed unreasonable tears.
Who said life was completely empty?
-srw
8/27/98
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