"Faded-Mulberry Lunchbox: Or, I've Loved You, Twenty-Two Years or So" by Laura Vogt

I.

The faded-mulberry lunchbox slumps

on the counter. Soft-edged rectangle

haphazard beside the sink. A smush

and ick. The scent of old things,

of what we’ve misplaced. There are sounds,

echoing from the box of rooms above. Feet,

a clatter, a thwack— What are they up to now?

Of course the smears of oil on glass,

the crumble of debris across mossy-grove

oak planks. And the lunchboxes,

which jumble about in wonky towers. Do you

remember, when it was just us two?

Just a day ago, or perhaps an entire age,

all these long years, of loving you.

II.

The faded-mulberry lunchbox slumps

on the counter. Soft-edged rectangle

haphazard beside the sink. A smush

and ick. The scent of old things,

of what we’ve misplaced. There are sounds,

echoing from the box of rooms above. Feet,

a clatter, a thwack— What are they up to now?

Of course the smears of oil on glass,

the crumble of debris across mossy-grove

oak planks. And the lunchboxes,

which jumble about in wonky towers. Do you

remember, when it was just us two?

Just a day ago, or perhaps an entire age,

all these long years, of loving you.

Laura Vogt's work has appeared in Fourteen Hills, Pleiades, Chapter House, Rust & Moth, South Carolina Review, and Enchanted Living Magazine.