The Shed

I’ve got a secret,

packaged and hidden,

under rusted roofline

within grey blistered walls.

Don’t worry,

nothing sinister in a serial kind of way,

nor exciting as pirated treasure,

just something reawakened,

in my father’s shed since passing away,

behind the workbench, under a painter’s cloth,

carefully concealed, private and preserved.

With grieved memory, I pull back stiffened cloth,

of mildew tones and layered dust ,

revealing an empty hideaway.

I’ve got a secret,

packaged and hidden,

discovered but never spoken,

reunited by spirit, to be later reconciled.

- Mark Trubisky