Almanac of Ache

Almanac of Ache

The box sits where it always sat
in a half open drawer by my bed.
I dare not touch it,
dare not stare.
That box is my almanac of ache.

Pretty cards, precious stones,
photographs of laughter,
a coaster from the pub.
Reminders of loss
fill my almanac of ache.

It used to be my treasure chest
a box of love and joy
It used to be my heart
Now it is, but,
a coffin for my happiness