Girls are boxed in vellum and cedar;
spiced and salted and crumpled.
A knitted hat, an illegible letter,
a dropped feather treasured and kept.
Lever the lid and dig down a hand
and your keen grabbing fist might
clutch on a button, snag on the threads
of a cloth jewel roll.
Lay it out flat, for they keep their secrets
in the small ripples of silk.
Rub a thumb hard on the seam,
rub a thumb hard on the seam.