Slash
The myriad slash and burn
Where are my armies of die-cut cardboard
Map grids, battle charts, dice in the felt-lined cup
Gettysburg and Normandy worlds at thirteen I could half control
History was my door closed, playing both sides
Boxes that engulfed me crumble in the landfill
Soaked and rotting, the worms eating through
Each small thing I make now holds its edge
As if to cut off time
