In the garage I constructed a box

In the box I marked OLD THINGS I place a Prison Break poster, some wooden figurines, a blue baseball glove, and some burnt CDs of bands and album titles written in neat handwriting with a sharpie--songs I don't want to hear.

I found a plastic St. Louis Rams cup, a blue rimmed bowl, and some old VHS cartridges I won't watch and can't play that I'll place in the cardboard box above the newspaper I've used to line the bottom.

Still, there remains these items too big for the box: a bike, a bed, a desk I helped carry home. And a past.

In another box I'll have to place: music heard but not recorded, conversations remembered but no longer recalled; years and years of memories, of nights in-house, days in-class, trips in cars, on planes, on busses.

I'll place news not published in papers or aired on TV. News insignificant to all but the few of us, that of new love, lost love, lost loved ones, and new members of familes that are spread about many states.

I've left the boxes open--they're not full yet. Contribute to it what you will before I have to seal and send it.

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