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