Original Poetry: "The Package", by bonzopoe

The Package

It came while you were gone
and it was waiting for you at the door
with the gift bow pointing to the sky
and feet firmly attached to the ground.

You load it carefully,
you shake it even more carefully,
and apart from the silence and its weight
there are no more clues
of what is inside.

It has no sender or card,
It's a Schrödinger's cat,
wrapped for gift
that broke into your existence.

You weigh possibilities.
A bomb? a surprise gift?
a real cat? a wicked joke?

You doubt, you wait,
and postpone its opening
until you have some certainty.
And while time passes
your Schrödinger's cat awaits,
with the bow as a gag
until the day you finally dare.

When you finally open it,
after weeks of waiting,
there is no cat neither alive nor dead,
only the echo of meows
that finally break free,
while you feel something furry
rubbing your legs.

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