Two Boxes

Two boxes arrived

To be pondered, in discomfort

To be acknowledged

Two, to be opened

Two urns sit side by side

They’d sat in that room before

On other occasions

More joyous

Than that odd and stilted day

Vessels become buoys

Unanchored, like memories

To drift on time and tide

What are the differences, I proffer,

Between ghosts and recollections?

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Erick Wilund is a writer, born and raised in New York. He writes in order to process what he is presented with, and to organize what he stores in his mind’s attic. He currently lives in the outer boroughs of New York City, amongst the trees.