Memory Boxes

I put you away today
Into a clean wooden box in my heart
Just as I have the others
(Each box is different--
This one, mottled and
Lined with red velvet)
Carefully I sorted you out
From the pool of my memories
I reread each note
Stared at each picture
As I slowing and finally filed you away
Into a box designated
'Unfortunately Not Quite Right'

And as I sat and wished I wanted to cry
As I closed the lid with a soft, muffled hiss
Some how it seemed
There should have been more --
The box should have burst at the seams
I wondered at how little you
Were physically reduced to

It mystified me that a year of my life
Could fit into such a small box
With room to spare

As I stacked the box beside
The others I have made in the past
There was a slight emptiness in my heart
I suppose that's what happens
When you give part of yourself to someone
Then put them away:
Incompleteness is to be expected