THE SHADOW BOX

I made a shadow box for you
to lead me forward onto the road of healing.
Eighty-seven years
in a nine by twelve compartment.

From childhood until the last cruise,
in such a small container.

A connect-the-dots biography
where lines trigger memories
to fill in the blanks.
A life so rich, brimming over with
stories told in vibrant hues.

An account of a life arduously
seeking knowledge in hundreds of
life’s arenas.

The last book you read made you sad.
I wish I had told you not to read it.
But you were your own person
and your decisions were firm, solid.

You were ashamed of the tears that
came with age, and felt confused
about a deep sensitivity you had not known before.
You’re handkerchief was drawn
from your pocket to your eyes in many situations.

You loved me so much and I loved you the same.
You hung on because you didn’t want to leave me.
I told you that you were free to go.
To see your mother, father and sister
“How do they know I’m coming?” you asked.
“They just do.”

“Daddy, do you know Jesus?”
“Oh, YES, Oh YES” and you took
your last breath.

A shadow box does not describe your
life.
A life in the sun, outside the shadows.
But I look at it, and recall.