It was a big cardboard box that had been
put together by cardboard hands and my hands
were the same color as the cardboard and my
hands were about to break it apart
and the box sat alongside
other boxes like itself
waiting on warehouse shelves
I was told to take the box
from the shelf and assemble
what was inside
An assembly of curiosity
and wonder that became the
parts to a recliner
It reminded me of my
grandfather’s recliner whose cushions
collected old racing forms, bus transfers,
cookie crumbs as well as rips and tears
As I opened the cardboard box and
pulled the recliner out like an oversized
wisdom tooth, the cardboard spoke
Why not get into this box? it said, there’s
enough room for you to get away, to hide
I thought about it as I held a
box cutter in my hands
I thought about the farm workers
who cut pieces of sunlight, I thought about
the guy cutting slabs of tuna a world away
in a fish market in Japan
I thought about my mother
cutting into a birthday cake
I thought about some invisible director
yelling: cut! and all that film
destined for the cutting room floor
I cut the box
into a thousand little poems,
a thousand little dreams that
a box cannot hold