Radio Silence

you used to tell me truths of all sizes
and I believed you and listened.
I held them in my hands like delicate glass balls
of swirling colors and flakes of mica
of silver and gold dust.
I've packed them away now, gently for later
waiting in a sense for the prodigal return.
All of those hopes and dreams they held
burried in the crumpled re-used tissue,
the tired paper
of years gone by,
of wrapping and un-wrapping,
of the sad tradition.
It is that time again,
when I hold them up to the light,
to inspect the imperfections
to make sure they are all intact
and some of them I'll polish,
holding them in higher esteem
nestled so closely
to the things that I also believe.
When you come home I will
unpack them happily.
I'll hang them joyously around your neck,
to dress you
in everything that you
have ever said.