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Packing Monsters

The doors of childhood are closed,
all the monsters dozing.
Inside, each room is full of boxes.
All those boxes, inexpertly packed, half-taped shut,
boxes you won’t open, knowing they are filled
with snoring monsters, big and small
curled together like puppies
in boxes you are bound to carry
wherever you go in the world
never free of the scent of dust and old cardboard.

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