Almost Hope

Cardboard towers gather around me

like stone giants of old, and I seek their wisdom.

Perhaps if I learn life’s lessons well enough

I might yet be rewarded with the right to stop in one place.

The voice of the box tape, raw and demanding,

punctuates my comings and goings,

All evidence of life’s messy work,

contained and taped and moved on again.

I seek the Zen of reaching and not grasping

Knowing and not knowing

Having and not having.

The disappointment

I feel is almost

like hope

These boxes are just little Christmas presents to myself --

Time capsules to be opened

in another reality.

Far away from here.

My exhaustion keeps me company,

and I feel consumed and happy

in a frenzy of activity

which seems like progress.

I will it to replace this hole inside of me,

as I close this box and that,

erasing each one from my memory,

relinquishing it to the future.

©2006 Donna Jo Wallace.