Father's House

I am contained in a box,

in the attic of my father's house.

Remembered with letters, papers,

and arts and crafts.

I am an old stuffed rabbit and a

stack of fraying mystery books.

I am the dust collected between

photos of ballet recitals and summer camps.

Tuck me away and keep me safe,

packed next to cases of

camping gear and rusted tools.

Preserve that little girl for me,

when I lose myself to the darkness

of this world.