Latched Box

Like a guideless plane in the clouds,

I struggle to see my father again,

Everything is but a fade,

Not one trace

Was made at his leave;

Here where teddy bears are lost,

And only needles can numb the pain.

Behind my mother

Is a trunk,

Which she shields every eye from.

Licked by a sudden desire,

To stitch back together all that was lost,

I search for a way to peek inside that latched box.