The Box

the box sits on the front porch, taped shut
revealing nothing but an address;
an address that means nothing to
the man walking up the steps to take it away
by request; her request urgently sent
late at night while sitting at the pink formica
table where all important business is conducted.
one day it will arrive at its destination
where a young woman will smile
joyously to see it, finally; she will
cut away the address label and the tape,
tenderly lifting up the white polka
dot curtains sewn late at night on the other
side of the world, just for her.