I sit on the lid
of Pandora's box
gritting my teeth, concentrating
sitting cross-legged, my head in my hands
making myself as heavy as possible,
trying not to think about
what I have shut in there
your face,
your voice,
your touch.

(Ignore it and maybe it will go away.)

It's not enough.
Things are leaking out.
OK, think heavy thoughts...
Concrete blocks.
A Steinway piano.
A giant Wile E Coyote boulder.
The patented ACME 16-ton weight.
Pile it all on.

Still not enough (of course).
One look in your eyes and
the carved lid cracks,
the oaken sides split open,
everything comes pouring out.

Remember what was left
in Pandora's box
when everything else was gone?

Hope.

Maybe I should just get off the lid.