Little Boxes Poem by Karen Touzalin

I am always building boxes,
packing
stacking
layering,
trying to compartmentalize my life
or the loose aspects of it.
Friends provide snippets of their day for wrapping
secrets to be stored carefully in foil paper
feelings labelled precious,
fragile,
handle with care
Neighbours reveal slices of life through open bay windows,
I surreptitiously conceal
for a rainy day,
to be opened in private...
open by addressee only.
A squirrel wanders by my door, trying to steal my techniques on hoarding or my endless yards of ribbons, which ever comes first.