she doesn’t know

about the box

it once held posh biscuits,

it’s very sturdy,

shiny too, hidden

behind the paperbacks,

it’s full of her

the early-life scribblings

some tiny shells she

collected for me from a

beach somewhere,

a bead necklace that

she made herself unaided,

insisting I wear it for

a day or two,

a beautifully arranged

autumnal leaf collage,

umpteen handmade birthday

cards and proclamations

of undying love for her Papa,

the piece de resistance,

a hand sewn heart

that she put by my hospital

bed following some

serious cardiac surgery,

strangely, several years on,

she asked me the other day

 if I still had that heart

and was both highly surprised

and elated when I confessed

that I’d kept it,

she’ll get all this worthless

treasure back one day

when I’m no longer

around anymore to re-live

those perfect long days we

spent growing up together

© GRS 9/24