I’ve always liked boxes.

 

I collected them for years,
Tiny jewellery boxes, music boxes
Jars, chests and woven baskets

I like how they keep things inside.

 

I like the mystery, the excitement of

Discovering them, of wondering what 

Treasures are inside, what trinkets

Are guarded by their walls and their door.

 

I like knowing what’s inside.

 

I like when strangers see them, unaware of 

The mess hiding in my wardrobe doors, 

Hidden in my desk drawers.

I like how clean they look. 

 

I like the magic of their contents.

It’s like a secret, safe in the shelter 

Of ceramic or plastic, or cardboard or wood.

My treasures lie inside, my art and my

Loved things, my shame and my pride.

 

I don’t climb out of my box a lot,
Sometimes I like my box

More than 

I like me.