To put my life in a box, even a big box, would leave so much behind.

more clothes than I can wear in a week
books I’ll never read
inertia that burns me up every day

Picking and choosing what to keep, what’s essential and irreplaceable.

photographs, the words that go with them
spare parts I might need some day
furniture and dish ware

The separation of self from the material, a chance to show mercy.

walls and rooms and spaces where we wept and slept and dreamed
the confines of expectations
all the mistakes of my past

Some things are left behind because there is no room in the box, while my heart seems infinite.