Here's the most recent thing I've written. I'm experimenting with a mixture of forms in it. This poem/monologue is about the value of people and objects in some people's lives.

(Unfortunately, the careful spacing of words--which is important to the poem--disappeared when I posted the document to my blog. If you want to see the version with the correct spacing, go to zed.cbc.ca and type 116869 in the "search" box.)


THE TREASURE BOX

by Donald B. Campbell



a small cardboard box
buried under a pile of
photo albums
magazines
art calendars
(too beautiful to throw away)
perched precariously on top of each other

until
one day

they

s
l
i
d
o
f
f


revealing

the box.



I rummaged through it,

expecting some treasure that I'd forgotten,

but finding receipts,
take-out menus,
lists

(the things that pile up to make a life)

and a card.


"THANK YOU" in perfect red letters on the front.
Inside, a note written in grand strokes:

"Hey, buddy, just wanted to say thanks for being
such a great friend. I'll never forget you.
- Jerry"


I remember saving the card,
telling myself,
"I'll put it where I can see it
in the corner of my eye
when I'm watching reruns on Friday nights."


(remote in one hand,
phone in the other,
ordering a pizza
..."Is a medium too big for one person?"...)

[[leftover slices for breakfast]]
[[[the comfort of my ritual]]]



I remember the card sitting on my coffee table
for a month.


I remember wondering where it had gone--
what stack of paper
it was lost in--
as I slowly surrendered to the objects
that creep across every surface
in my apartment.


I even remember when I got the take-out menu
that lay on top of the card.



I just can't remember who Jerry was.