400 Boxes of Words

In the attic of the Friar's house
Under the creaky oak, amidst the itchy insulation
There is a breathing box, heart-beating trap

Child's palms are sweaty
Nervous as a first time cat burglar
Listening for parental foreboding as he pulls the ladder up

Pealing through the pages of that box
What were these ramblings? Who was this Lima Bean?
What Pirates! What Vikings! What Spaniards roamed these seas!

The parents listen from their bed
To the giggling, the love, the emotional dalliances holding court above their heads
Lying there, smiling to each other, proud of what they once said

Humanista
(In honor of 400 posts on Friars)