I will put in my box:
— The sound of singing bowls and my dad´s laughter
— A late lunch, table set right in the sea, trying all his cigars afterwards.
— The smell of my box tastes like olives and oars
— Him so clumsy at fathering at loving and life
— Then happy thoughts, understanding thoughts.
— Unbreaking his heart.
— Safety.
— Wisdom.
— Enlightenment.
My box is heavy, melodious, and thinks so highly of me.
I will soak my feet in it when writing
–sleep this all off with it under my pillow
keep my fish bowl on it, next to the other boxes.
What colour is my box. Now that is all it needs.
That, and can´t remember how he laughed..
(a version of Kit Wright‘s My Magic Box) [CLICK]
