Every time I go down to the room in the basement of my apartment building where I used to stay and begin to sort through boxes, I invariably peek in one or two, and the artifacts packed in there-the CDs, the notebooks, the letters, the books, the pictures-present the past as dense and layered, something that is difficult to sift through and catalog. It is difficult to synthesize a narrative, even as I am intimately connected to the “people group” that left the clues. And, lazy archaeologist that I am, I return to my flat above.
spare room like a tell
in boxes deposited
layers of being
I hear ya brotha! Sometimes that is just easier.
I have no boxes because I came to this country with two suitcases only a few years ago.. so lucky you are.. but as well.. me too c