Chest Without A Name

I keep my verse in a chest of drawers

each one so very different

 

Some words for summer, some for winter

and some then most intemperate

 

I keep the best one’s locked away

for those times when you’re around

 

To dress each phrase in sunlit fire

with silks and linens found

 

I fold each poem nice and neat

stacked end to end they lay

 

To sit and wait, my breath exhaled

until their chosen day

 

There’s one drawer open every night

in case my dreams conspire

 

The thickest warmest woolen clads

to wrap the image dire

 

One day I’ll will this chest of drawers

to my first born oldest son

 

And hope he wears each line as his

and lets the meanings run

 

And then to his son, he’ll pass on

when fate calls out his name

 

The drawers more full than when I left

—this chest without a name

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)

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