Writing By gen-z creatives

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Packed In Boxes

We took our home, piece by piece—

the lava lamp without a bulb; the picture

his mother bought (of us, facing away

from the camera but towards a river,

smiling at swans and holding hands);

the green game boxes, piles of them—

and placed it in those cardboard boxes.

Although originally meant for medical equipment,

masks and gloves and surgical dressings,

his mother, the nurse, found them for us

and let us fill them with remnants of home

to take to the new building. The new house,

with sandy window frames and the box room.

Our room. But not at first, not until

we slit open the cardboard with pocket knives,

revealing their comforting, familiar insides:

t-shirts and hoodies we'd both worn; CDs

and DVDs we'd fallen asleep to, too many times

to count; pink and blue candles, only half-full.

Our life, in objects. Our home, packed in boxes.