time capsule

encased in an old popcorn bucket:

a notebook filled with the only artistic confessions

I did not mold to please the public eye;

in them, a naked truth I could not face

and hate to uncover now.

a clump of moss, protected from natural degradation

only by my persistent belief in its ability

to protect me from the same; I lie in wait

for the truth of my childhood expectations.

a potion, three parts water and one part bark

from the tree outside my living room window.

the moss grew around the same tree.

I pray that the tree will outlive me.

lastly, a ticket that will take me anywhere

on the condition that I cannot return.

when I buried it, my fear crippled me

because I had never wanted anything more.

now, with the past in my hands,

I do not know what I want.