Boxes
/So many things I’ve saved and kept, throughout the passing years
At times I run across them, causing melancholy tears
Each keys a certain memory brought to mind from distant past
Most often feelings soft and warm, the ones that seem to last.
Animals made from wool and yarn I’d take to bed each night
I’d clutch them tightly to my chest as Mum turned out the light
Safe beneath my coverlets as I drifted off to sleep
They stayed my silent guardians as in dreams I counted sheep.
A toy chest made from scratch by Dad, hand painted by my Mum
With characters from the world of Pooh, so happy, never glum
They pranced around the sides and front, I knew them all by name
And on the top it said “JIM’S TOYS” as bold as candle’s flame.
A baseball mitt, pulled from a box, dark leather smooth and hard
Initials on the thumb insured return from friend’s backyard
The horsehide ball now grey and worn, red stitching still intact
Each scuff from dirt and pavement like another memory stacked.
And what about the scouting badge for woodsman’s crafty skills
Camping out in Autumn with a fire to chase wind’s chills
A tent to keep the rain at bay if weather turned quite foul
The stars against the blackest sky, the hoot of distant owl.
A yearbook from my high school, smiling photos staring out
Playing in the marching band and cheers that we would shout
Walking halls and wondering if a girl might want to date
Awkward phone calls often made at times a bit too late.
Each box within my basement holds collected life events
Dragged along as memories aid to keep in present tense
Perhaps no longer needed as I’m nearer to life’s end
Yet all I ever was is there, a cardboard flock to tend.
Like Midas in his castle with his coffers filled with gold
I feel each box is priceless, could not bear to see it sold
Although I am but one small life, my story’s not unique
But I still enjoy my boxes, perhaps you’d like a peek?
By James Geehring
From: United States
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