the sun box

far apart, the same realization
that childhood is gone
(i wonder how i remember it wrong)

the ceramic container reminds me--
a little box with a sun on the lid,
a sun wearing sunglasses, silly, cliche,
i was maybe 11, painting this,
and here it is still, with a few bobby pins
in my bathroom drawer,
still around after all this time

and when i painted its blue interior
green on the outside, with words etched in:
("nice sunny day!" it says, with stars and hearts)
perhaps i had pins in my hair.

i know i had my sister there,
my mother there
some los gatos afternoon

we went back to paint plates
these works fired into glossy artifacts

i mourn the distance
the gaps
of these days i hardly think of anymore

how could i dwell