The many drawers
of an exquisite
apothecary cabinet
catch my eye.
Lustrous brownish-black
wood with a hint of purple,
appears to glow
from within.

Strong straight wood grain
is etched with delicate
curls and waves.
A unique beauty stands
before me.

I am transported
to a long ago time.
A dark haired man with
gentle hands grinds a
mortar and pestle.
A young woman with a limp
child in her arms
stands rocking
side to side
waiting patiently for the
apothecary to complete
a potion for her son.

Spices, tobacco, dried herbs,
mortar and pestles,
spoons and scales,
can be seen
in various drawers.

I wonder about the
compartments in my life.

My home, the shell I live in.
Filled with carefully chosen
art and trinkets to adorn walls,
soft blankets and bright colors
strategically placed in homage
to an identity I continue
to seek.

My car, a familiar cocoon
I enter each morning
and hurtle down roadways
to open the door into
another compartment
where I will spend
eight hours of my day;
one third of a revolution
around the sun.

My life is a series
of moving from compartment
to compartment
with only
slight adjustments
along the way.

As I continue to look at the
beautiful cabinet before me,
rich in history and
memories polished
into the wood,
I look skyward and envision
a great alchemist
looking down.
A great alchemist
peeking into the drawers
of my apothecary life
waiting to see what
combination of materials
I will choose
from the many compartments
before me.