the hardest thing

I climb up
into the attic, where
I've
stored boxes over the past
fifteen years
and begin.

I have a flash light and a small
pillow to sit on.

one by one I go through
each stuffed box to slash and burn.

ribbons and bows, photos.
rings and cards.
letters. memories that only
bring pain.

there is little hesitation,
no pondering, no regret.

the past is the past.

letting go is the hardest, but
the healthiest thing.

and when I climb down,
I take out my new camera
to begin
all over again.