The Chest Remembers

Standing in front of the chest I wonder,

About the stories of its time.

The words used then, now

Forgotten and turned to salt.

The grain in the wood,

Like blood and veins.

The mahogany remembers,

The mahogany still dreams.

What can I learn from the details

Of the chest? What’s there for

Us, imprinted in the wood? What

Secrets it hides.

Somewhere anonymous hands,

Crafted the chest I now touch.

My hands seem smaller, too new,

Compared to those now gone.

The chest stands in front of me,

Knowledge in its layers.

I listen for the words,

 I listen closely.