A box once lost but not forgotten–

Its wooden framework, sculpted meticulously by the calloused fingers of an old trawler.

Its sea blue paint telling tales to long vogues, unforgiving and cruel.

It was built to last the eternal tidal currents, unbroken by the onslaught.

But now it wains–

The paint thins, falling away to the time it swore to stand against.

The dingy sore swept wood wilting to the damp droplets of a basement cellar.

Those memories now left to bleed as the curtain that once hung so determined

meant to cover the fragile contents,

Was stripped away–

Leaving the memories to ooze their bile sweet contents,

with nothing left to cover the lingering fragrance.

I can’t help but to turn away from its exposed face.

A reminder of something I would have chosen to be forgotten.

But, maybe some memories can never be forgotten.

Forlorn glasses plucked from their dusty case–

The salty sweet scent faded from the rims we used to drink from in careless splendor.

Something I once looked upon in loving reminiscence now only irks the buried despair.

I relinquish its dull reflection that long ago shone with teaming luster.

However, my hardened fingers hold on, unable to let go of your glass– 

Broken, the pieces fall to my shaken hands.

Weeping, my grievous tears fall to the shining reflection of its surface,

never once did it lose its shine.

Leaden, my breaths grew heavy, never knowing what it meant,

until you too fell.

Those memories come rushing back,

like the raging torrent that made them.

A faded photo of our late daughter–

I can’t help but to feel weak at the sight of it.

You told me it wasn’t my fault, there was nothing I could have done.

The summer’s storm is unforgiving to those that line its shore.

I never thought a remnant of graceful times would be the catalyst of mournful grief.

But, maybe it doesn’t have to be.

The center stands empty–

Hoping that one day it would be filled with new memories.

A resolve to a tragic tale, an acceptance of this truth.

I place the fragile box, resting it slowly so as to not break it.

My fingers graze the surface, smooth and soft it is.

To place it on display so I may never

lose this box of old memories again.