Stuffed in Boxes

Don't Forget MeWhen I wrote this piece I had been digging around in a storage bin, the kind that slides under the bed. It is home to a pile of wedding invitations, a select few birthday cards, some random photos (when we still used film), and small odds and ends I thought necessary to keep. In those circumstances my mind wandered, as it often does, and it wandered into the topic of absolutes. I’m never sure why, after the fact, my mind wanders into the things that it does. So there I am thinking about absolutes and the language associated with that concept. In debate, it’s practical to avoid absolutes. There are none. In advertising, nothing is ever 100% germ-free. Life is just better dealt with when there is that room for uncertainty.  I decided to put all the absolutes I knew of into a poem…

 

Anything of Any Importance Goes in Small Boxes

Her dead eyes, only
alive in matte finish, were the only
eyes that always
saw every
good thing about me, but will never
look ever
again, always
there beneath the bed
in a small box.

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