A box

Just a scene that conjured itself up in my mind, begging to be put on paper (or screen…). It may still need some polishing


She owns a box

That she seldom opens.

But today, bygone days are calling to her.

As she lifts the lid,

Old treasures awake in her chest,

Threads of past glees floating around them.

Yesterday’s joys bloom anew.

A forgotten spring

That brings a smile to her tired face.

She seizes an ancient book.

As she turns the pages,

Forefathers come back to life,

Their glorious deeds playing before her eyes.

Her eyes she closes,

A subtle scent teases her nose.

She wrinkles it in concentration

As a memory presses against her heart :

The soft touch of her mother’s dress

On her face as she curls up

In her arms

The familiar perfume,

The comforting whispers,

That bring her child-self’s tears to dry.

An absence, an abyss in her heart

That she had hastily covered

For fear of being swallowed

Now lays open.

But in it now burns a reassuring fire

The warm evocation

Of sunny childhood days.

The tender smile

Of her mother.



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