Little Miss Hoarding — The Boxes That Won't Open

Lyrics

The pathways are narrow now.
Worn smooth.
A single file line for a life of one.

That stack of Chronicles is from November of ninety-eight.
There was an article in there, I’m sure of it.
About a frost, or a local election.
I’ll clip it out someday.
It’s right there, under the box of instruction manuals.
For the VCR that ate the tape in two-thousand-and-three.
You never know.

A house full of someday I’ll need it.
A heart full of the same.
These boxes stay sealed, these memories folded.
And the dust settles soft on my name.
The boxes that won't open.
The doors that stay closed.

The kitchen counter is just a rumor of formica.
Under a landslide of mail.
Invitations from a decade ago.
Final notices I never opened.
On Tuesdays, I watch the neighbors.
The rolling thunder of their empty bins on the curb.
Mine is quiet. Mine is always quiet.

A house full of someday I’ll need it.
A heart full of the same.
These boxes stay sealed, these memories folded.
And the dust settles soft on my name.
The boxes that won't open.
The doors that stay closed.

Last week I needed a button.
A small, pearlescent one for a collar.
I knew I had it.
I spent the afternoon digging through a hat box from my mother.
Felt the brittle lace, smelled the mothballs.
Found the button.
It wasn't the right one.
And the shirt… I can’t remember where I put the shirt.
What if it’s all empty?
What if I clear it all away and there’s nothing left of me?
Just the quiet hum.

This one…
This box right here…
Maybe tomorrow.
Someday.