Making tidy

The functional purpose of a box.
We dutifully put things in boxes...

We put in shoes,for tidyness
Letters full of love, or legal implications.

We colour sort ties, scarves
Winter jumpers

Pressed flowers
Photographs and odd collections
Like buttons, that no one reuses

Bills, drawing pins, pencils



Wedding rings,

Goodbyes, and


Except grief doesn't fit
Grief does not conform to any format
Grief is obtuse and rude
It changes its matter
It seeps through layers of defence
It sits waiting on the garden gate and at the bottom of your coffee cup

It disappears and reappears
It has a fragrance -
And a smile carried by kin

It has no concept of acceptable lengths of time,
or the depths of regret
Or the weight of burden

It has a dark comedy
It is the last laugh
And the ultimate final word

It is good though at this... teaching of life's lessons,

1. Be loved
2. Thrill in the now
3. Say I love you as many times as you can

Until one day
And odd shape box is formed
No lid
No sides
No base or right angles
Just there, doing its thing

Poetry by Lupidu
Read 45 times
Written on 2020-07-27 at 23:39

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bibek adhikari The PoetBay support member heart!
Interesting how the poem starts with a litany of what things can be put in a box and moves on to be a philosophical musing on grief . . . until how grief itself turns into a box. I enjoyed the smooth progression of the poem.