Reliquaries

My box is full of 100 Demons, they take on the form of guilt of shame.

I open each box expecting, well, things that boxes hold. These appear to be empty - one after another after another. But, they're not. Upon opening, they contain each and every thought and expectation.

This box is emptied of a soldier's honors. He has no shame or guilt; he came home in a coffin, a war hero.

In the Fall of 1967, I felt guilt and shame - 

mostly shame - because I had deleted the final voice tape my dad had sent us from Vietnam before he was KIA. 

My mother  had told me not to tape over it 

with a favorite comic of his, but I did anyway, and then he died; taking the last of his voice with him. 

In the Spring of 2024, one of my sisters sent me a text saying she had found tapes that Daddy sent back from Vietnam – 

“What? Really? I know I deleted the last one; Mom was really angry”. “Nope,” she said, “You did not.” 

I don’t know that the weight of the years will ever be lifted; I’m afraid to listen to them. 

Do you remember your father going off to work carrying a briefcase? Did you ever carry a briefcase to work? I’m showing my age, as now I only see backpacks.

This briefcase, carried for 15 years, but unused since 1967, holds a folded flag, a purple heart, and a garrison cap. It still has the airline cabin baggage tag attached. Also attached is a tag placed on the briefcase to accompany the body home. It doesn’t have any photos of us.