Woodcut print by Bryan Nash Gill.
Dear Ones,
I bought a case, to put my odd objects into, because I felt sad that they were in boxes, and if I am not making these things for me, then who? As an audience of one, I wanted these things presented in a vitrine, and so they are going into a cabinet. However, some things are not going to be kept any longer.
A shoebox of leaf skeletons, although it might be the best thing I own, will be documented and then, tossed onto the wind. Photographing these things will have to suffice.
Also, a chocolate box filled with fabric snips. A box of rocks. Many boxes of shells, coral. A stack of stamps cut from the RSVP's of my wedding invitations. A box of conkers. Seeds and pods. Winged leaves. Stems of dried bulbs.
These are the collections that are going, many more are staying: the birds' nests, more boxes of rocks. Cut scraps of yarn.
All of this saving seems to be what gives me meaning, and that brings me to poem, which I think you should save, in a box, in a collection of poems that bring you meaning.
There's no choice
near the end
but to curl in
on yourself.
That's all that
remains, but for
that around
which you curl.
