I remember the old wooden box
Its tarnished screen inlaid on top
That coveted elusive box
Such hallowed metal inside
Shimmering on the dresser, breathless, unopened
Ali Baba’s cave
Opened by magic
No one’s rightful treasure
Yet I heard stories whispered and shamed
The upstaged engagement ring
Guilt necklace bought in a rush
A silver bracelet from the cantina
Those jewels I secreted and wore
My own stories, invented
Though you always knew
It was your box after all
Now there’s another box
The same metaled memories in cardboard
But the ring, the guilt, the cantina
Still yours
And I’d give anything to put it back
Leave the box to rest on your dresser
To close the cave
And listen to your stories