My Magic Box

My Magic Box

Allyson Lague

I will put in the box

the swish of fall crisp air,

fire from the hearth that swallows darkness

the tip of a years old pen.

I will put in the box

a feather from a ringed kingfisher

a broken twig of an ancient oak,

a rusted iron stake pulled from a railroad track.

I will put into the box

three gains of sand from a timeless hourglass,

the last snowflake at winters end,

and the first honeysuckle of summers eve.

I will put into the box

a rogue wave off a south wind,

a tattered blanket stitched many times over

and a grandfather clock.

My box will be fashioned from mahogany and silk,

with the etch of unknown origins underneath.

Its stain from an Indian marketplace

I shall always add to the collection

on the forward path

then converse with the long forgotten things

the color deepens as the possessions age.