insulation – Hannah Nelson

September 24, 2026

There is an attic box
brimming with pink paper shreds. . .

A box in the attic
filled with shredded pink paper,
empty of things that matter.
Shadows of weight have left indents;

mass indented paper into shadows,
but now it does not matter:
I cannot read – I never knew what it held.

I never read what it held
I never held what I read
It was red, I was held
I was held, I was held once
And now I am pink, shredded paper.
I am the attic. I am a box.