Behind the jackets amongst the socks between the T shirts there sits a box
bagged in plastic in cardboard bound secured by elastic without sound
the box of letters still unopened by me emotional fetters too strong to see
This week’s prompt for we poets comes from Kim. We have been asked to write an autobiographical poem of three stanzas about a box. I have written on this before - my mother’s letters remain unread. Interestingly, I got very close to opening them just this week. The prompt was timely. Maybe next time I will have a different story to tell about the box. See the prompt here: dVerse.
poetography.ink 
Hope to hear you opened the box, or not!
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Not yet.
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I am fascinated with the poem you gifted us …. waiting, waiting, waiting.
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Sean, I see your box holds secrets, too. This poem is lovely and speaks of your pain, perhaps locked inside another box. Best wishes to you.
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Unread letters sounds like dangerous goods, ready to explode… made me think of the howler letters in Harry Potter.
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Sometimes it is best to leave them unopened.
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Wowwwwww
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