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.