A Box of Dust
Sits on my shelf.
Has sat,
For close
To three months now.
From Ides of March,
Until Mid June,
A Box of Dust
Sits on my shelf.
Behind closed door.
For three months
Of Eternity.
A Box of Dust-
In which,
Resides my Dad.
Did You think
Of this?
If so,
Your planning,
Dad,
Was really bad.
From snow filled March
To storm filled June-
You've sat upon
A shelf,
In Fed Ex Box,
In my spare room.
It's three weeks now
And I had never thought
That I would
Ever wish to pass
Through June's
MidSummer Night-
I do this year.
For Dad,
Your silence
On my shelf-
Frankly, Dad,
There's little
comfort there,
From that Box-
From that Dust-
Upon my shelf.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem