Battered box

In the quiet stillness of the early morning
I am looking again at this battered box of thoughts

It may contain false lies, old ideas, residual fears and foreboding

But in there too is long forgotten dreams, ideas from which new ones can emerge

Flimsy dented cardboard walls, held together with layers of sticky tape, this box has been my treasure
Tentatively I consider it, perhaps it can be explored again, perhaps it won’t be as hard this time, if I look at it with you

I know within there are moments once shared with old love
Vivid and distant memories
Hopes fulfilled and deferred
Happy recollections and deep agony
The birthing of children  and pain fueled leaving

I didn’t know I would mend again
I hoped I would and hope won

Now I find at the bottom of this battered box are small and perfect gifts,
as yet untouched
Gifts I have been given but never opened
Unsure if they are wanted, are they even for me?
What do you think? 

Crisp white envelopes marked with the names of the intended recipients
Letters I have drafted in my mind but never sent
Words I have longed to say but never thought I could
I didn’t know I could, is it too late to share them now?

You push me to be curious and brave
You cheer me on to find my words
Armed with my  sword-pen you invite me to share the words I carry
You want to hear them, hear me
Your care means these words cut through the sticky tape
So the box can fall apart 

It’s time

naomi sarah