The Box

On my night stand sits a wooden box
Inside it are just little things like
Paper clips and rings and pop rocks
From a party I attended,
Fortune cookie fortunes, chapstick
Several pennies and a dime,
But most of all it holds the memories
Of the one who pieced it all
Together from the scraps of wood
Left from the boat he built himself,
Each seam precisely joined together
A flawless surface sanded smooth,
A work of patience, and of love
Selflessly given me long ago,
But I remember. I do remember.

Caren E. Salas