Poem for Everyman

by John Wood

I will present you parts of my self slowly

if you are patient and tender.

I will open drawers that mostly stay closed

and bring out places and people and things

sounds and smells, loves and frustrations,

hopes and sadness, bits and pieces

of three decades of life

that have been grabbed off in chunks

and found lying in my hands.

they have eaten their way into my memory,

carved their way into my heart.

Altogether-you or I will never see them-

they are me. If you regard them lightly,

deny they are important

or worse judge them

I will quietly, slowly, begin to wrap them up,

in small pieces of velvet,

like worn silver and gold jewelry,

tuck them away in a small

wooden chest of drawers and close.

Could it be said any better…?