The Box

The Box

She strained up to the cupboard to reach to the top,
Standing on tippy toes , careful don’t drop.
Unable to reach she cursed and she saw
A chair for her to climb, high up from the floor.

Smiling with delight she grabbed what she found.
It was big, heavy and square and certainly not round.
She lifted it carefully from its specially prepared space,
Where it lay long ago , in its very secret place.

She judged the distance and with a grunt she did lift,
Down to the ground to a chair she could sit.
Like a baby she cradled it tenderly in her lap,
Looking at it closely and examining the brass flap.

It was wooden and large with carvings galore,
On its face, its sides and even its door.
There were butterflies and bridges with tiny little men,
She hadn’t remembered being there, way back then.

She knew she shouldn’t open it, not here and not now,
For the memories would flood in and furrow her brow.
But she couldn’t resist the temptation to see,
The things she’d put there, when she was free.

She opened the door, peeked and then gasped,
What am I doing? She suddenly asked.
Memories flooded back and tears sprang to her eyes,
She sat blinking furiously wondering why.

She took a deep breath picked the bundle on top,
It was wrapped with pink satin ribbon that she got from the shop.
They were well wishes and sympathies from a long time ago,
Of the loved one she treasured, who helped her to grow.

She didn’t undo the bow to look inside,
She knew what it was, it was nothing to hide.
Next was the plastic bag with the pony tail so clear,
When her hair was cut, she remembered that year.

Then was an envelope upon which her name,
Was written in ink and the card was the same.
Out fell a familiar photo and so read the back,
It was at a waterfall she recalled, as well as the track.

It made her remember the heat of the day,
As they walked and they trekked sometime in May.
There were sandwiches and cake they took along to eat,
Beside that waterfall, they’d sat on a seat.

To talk and to laugh at each other in fun,
Until it was time to go and then it was done.
She put the photo back with tenderness anew
For then she saw the package in brown paper too.

It was lying at the bottom tied with raffia so pink,
And she tugged at the bow and unwrapped, not a blink.
She picked it up; it was worn, pink and blue,
“Tinka”, she whispered, as if it was brand new.

She’d love it so much all those years that had passed,
And put it to her face and hoped it would last.
To her delight, the smell was still there,
Giving her comfort and then she just stared.

For her reverie was broken with a screech and a cry,
“Mummy, mummy, where are you?” She sighed.
Her daughter pushed the door open, with a loud bang,
“There you are my mummy,” she smiled and she sang.

With a flurry she danced in her long fairy dress,
Until she saw Tinka, to snatch and caress.
She looked down at her daughter and smiled so sweet,
Until she saw in her hand that she had Tinka’s feet.

She gasped in dismay, her daughter on the floor sat,
Oblivious of what had been done, she knew none of that.
Tinka was held to her face as her mother had done,
Before she flung her away, out the door she did run.

The mother gazed at the feet lying small and inert,
Her daughter didn’t know that she was feeling so hurt.
A tear found its way out and rolled down her cheek,
As she remembered escaping, times that had been bleak.

She picked Tinka up and shook off the dust,
Got out her sewing kit to repair. For she must,
Pack her away, from those tiny hands into her place,
In the box, in the cupboard, and it’s special secret space.

The End

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s