January 21st, 2009

Filled with dust;
dust and boxes.

Old boxes,
left undisturbed for
who knows how long.
I hungered for their solitude,
their ability to sit,
and do nothing else
but collect dust.

I open one up,
and pull out a necklace
made of lace.
It’s wrapping around and around,
the intricate loops of fabric hugging each other,
different and the same.
The white,
once so clean is now yellowed,
crumbling at the edges,
It’s curious,
how the maker of such a
beautiful item was able to
cast it aside and allow it to rot.
This lace and I,
we have quite a bit in common.