Mediate, they say.

Let me go.

See only the moment

And the mantra in your mind.

 

So I put on headphones,

I close all the doors.

I sit in the bath,

And let all else go.

 

But sitting there in space,

It’s not solitary,

For in the stillness

That damned box sits

Filed with all that

Waits Until Later.

I sit with my back against it,

The corners pressed in sharp lines across me,

To comfort and castigate me.

 

Shall I pull the tatted shawl off the box and open the rusted hinges?

Perhaps I’ll add another knitted layer to it instead,

Muffling its rust AMD wails a little bit more.

Why should I look inside it anyway?

I remember every harsh and hurtful thing I Squeezed and shoved through the keyhole.

Screaming in agony as I felt out treat from my flesh and wiggle through.

Let the capsule remain as it is,

So all my griefs can ache together.