The Perfect Box
A poem for when you are going round in circles
Perfection
is an illusion
An A+ addiction
Exhausting
Futile
Self-indulgent
I will pack it away
with other childish things
And get the hell on with it
From time-to-time
I’ll open my box
of perfections past
Leaf through them
Like old photos
Smiling at my charming naivete.
Did I really think precision
was a substitute for heart?
I’ll use a mahogany box
Hand-carved
Fingertips tracing exquisite detail
Trustworthy
Substantial
Quality.
No, that’s not right
A velvet box
Red-rich
Fingertips sinking into deep pile
Sumptuous
Haute-couture
Valuable
No, I can do better
A hand-jeweled box
One-of-a-kind
Fingertips charting unpredicted contours
Free-spirited
Creative
Original
No, they’re all wrong
I need a tin box
Plain and cheap
Uninteresting to fingertips
Simple
Artifice-free
Honorable
Or maybe the mahogany…
Why is everything so hard?
Try again,
Tomorrow.
©Nazneen Rahman 2019
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