In an old cardboard box in the attic…
personal notes sent on cold mornings,
a gold high school graduation ring,
a chipped red checker piece,
but mostly a collection of long-lost memories.
The dusty box sits beside
a cracked antique mirror,
a single bed,
a dented in trumpet from the 1930s,
boxes of esoteric books,
grocery sacks of old games:
and on the bottom,
an old picture album
of known and unknown faces…
The forgotten memories inside,
covered with countless years.
The things glistened with newness
a long time ago
when those who lived
in this old house
now only an empty silence.
Life, so brief, so taken for granted.
Then, in a sudden moment,
and what was can only be found
in old cardboard boxes in attics,
and far less often,
in the memories of those few
who are still alive to remember.
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