Chest Without a Name
I keep my verse in a chest of drawers
each one so very different
Some words for summer, some for winter
and some then most intemperate
I keep the best one’s locked away
for those times when you’re around
To dress each phrase in sunlit fire
with silks and linens found
I fold each poem nice and neat
stacked end to end they lay
To sit and wait, my breath exhaled
until their chosen day
There’s one drawer open every night
in case my dreams conspire
The thickest warmest woolen clads
to wrap the image dire
One day I’ll will this chest of drawers
to my first born oldest son
And hope he wears each line as his
and lets the meanings run
And then to his son, he’ll pass on
when fate calls out his name
The drawers more full than when I left
—this chest without a name
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)
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