A corrugated box, <br />Stored high on a shelf <br />In the basement boiler room <br />Cobwebbed carton <br />Keeping slides and slices of me <br />Memorized <br />Magically encapsulated <br />In the pages of a dozen calendars <br />That are dotted and dashed <br />With events and appointments <br />I once attended <br />Or kept <br />With the right handed held Sharpie <br />Initials...S.L. contents <br />Declaring those days once were mine <br />To do with as I pleased <br />Handwritten reminders of birthday' s <br />Of lover's <br />When the Yankee would play the Red Sox <br />When my mother died <br />When my dentist expected me <br />To show up with a little courage <br />When my rent was due <br />When my beautiful nieces were born <br />When my heart was broken <br />When the circus was coming to town <br />All in a pile, stacks of years lived <br />Some better than others <br />Why I saved them <br />I am not entirely sure <br />Perhaps to remain myself <br />Three hundred sixty five days <br />Though often felt an eternity <br />Merely just calendar pages<br /><br />Susan Lacovara<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/marked-yesterdays/
