She fits inside a shoe box?
How can that be?

A mourning card, a birthday card, a cartoon on a napkin. A wire bra, a notepad, her photograph softly smiling.

Now she is a voicemail that I still replay.
Now she is that song? That breaks me everyday.
Now she is a twinkling star winking high above me. Now she is a butterfly her wings look oh so lovely.

Will I too fit inside a box?
With no name written on it.
Closed with a yellow rubber band
Sitting on top of the closet?