MOVING BOXES, by Angela O’Connor

MOVING BOXES

Still they sit in the shed. Empty. Cold. Lifeless
Never looked at, she wonders why she keeps them.
Just hang onto them.
They may be of use. Or do they represent something else?

Her. Love for her. Annoyance of her. They are from her address.
Stickers of a home no longer visited.
They must not be tossed out. Spiders can weave their fine homes.
But never thrown. Never thrown. Always at my home.

Roger Butler