Two Christmases of Board Games

I opened up Cranium tonight

and inside were the relics of our past and

of last Christmas with your mom.

I found the sheets of paper

where you drew a very good truck –

I think the clue was “mudflaps” –

and the lists of words describing the Superbowl.

Just when I thought I had swept all the memories away

and collected the bits and pieces in the dustpan,

which I immediately disposed of

in the garbage,

here are a few crumbs left behind –

ruins, vestiges, some pathetic leftovers –

in a box of a game I apparently

haven’t played in half a year.

The first Christmas, she bought me the original Cranium.

I was in St. Thomas with my mom,

but upon my return, you presened me a wrapped box,

the weight told me it was what I hoped it was –

the board game I had asked for and was so happy to receive.

We played with Rich and Kristin,

and we won. Every time.

We were a good team back then.

Before you got so into yourself

and forgot about me. Or so it seemed.

The second Christmas, you bought me crystal earrings

and the new Cranium.

We played on Christmas Eve with your entire family.

The dog stepped on the box and tore the lid.

I was irritated. And I still am, a little bit,

even now, six months later.

Tonight I found those sheets of paper, those drawings –

those memories –

tucked in the box,

like a fossil record of family fun.

I was with new friends when I discovered them.

Emotionless, I said, “Oh, wow. These are from the last time I played.

My ex drew this,” gesturing to your very good truck.

Immediately, I gathered up all the remains of our board game past,

and decisively tore up the papers in one, two, three…four pieces.

Into the trash.

Now part of me wishes I kept them

to bring them home

to put with the cards and letters I wrote for you

that are in the scrapbook I was making for you

with all the love I had inside for you

that was poured out onto those pages for you

to burn them all.

Then at least while I was cleaning up the ashes –

because, unfortunately, I guess I still am –

I wouldn’t have to see the evidence.