The Box of Teeth

The Box of Teeth
By Jaime Contrys

He left it at my door.
The gaping hole in
the top of the box
sent shivers down
my spine. I did not
want to look inside,
for fear of what I would
find. Nightmares need
only find me when they
look behind the sign.

He left it on my doorstep,
as easy as can be. He left it
there, he knew I would see
past what only the eye can see.
A lump in my chest but not to panic,
only I can solve this mess.

He left it at my back door, and that was way
too much. The scars on my chest could not
forget, how he’d asked to have some lunch.
The sweat goes in beads down my face, as I
knew not how he found the place. They started
to chatter all in a row, scarring me from head to toe.
I ran to the phone, but the line had been cut. If
only I had known about the silly phone, I may
have saved the mutt.

He left it on my doorstep, the
only one of me. The picture
he took while I shivered and shook,
I'll never be off the hook. His traps
did work and only he knew what it
took for me to look in that stupid box
he put, the empty life of three. Mine
should have joined them, but it was he 
that held the key. Tthe only thing that kept
me at bay, was the box of teeth that he had
all in array.

He left it at my door, he did,
he left it at my door. So who
would ask of me, at long last,
of that stupid ol’ box of teeth?
The box of teeth that did not
belong to me, but to the three
that had long been lost, not free.

He left it on my doorstep,
he did, to haunt me one last
try. He left it at my door, he did,
to see if I might cry. He left
it on my doorstep, to see me ask
“Oh why?” He left the box, of three
dead, no-- lost, to sit and spy one
more time.

He left the box of teeth, he did,
to tell me his goodbye.