BOX

Imagine a box
green and lacquered
painted with gold
polished hasps

I will write my hopes
unfulfilled
on index cards
and tuck them inside

or burn them
at havdalah
that separation between
holy and profane

a friend clasps
my hand, reminds me
you were a mother
honor that

and everything
I've been picturing
crumbles to ash
and blows away


Rachel Barenblat
from Miscarriage Poems: THROUGH