The Memory Box

Beneath this table sits a boxIt’s scruffy, thin and battered.A cardboard box of memoriesOf days that really mattered. Confetti from my wedding day,A drawing by my mother,The shoes that took my son to school,A photo of my brother. A tattered book of rhyming verseMy dad’s infatuation.A silken flower, grandma’s ballA golden celebration. A pipe my granddad carved with loveA boyhood skill he cherished.His baccy tin is scratched and bare.Its precious contents perished. A tarnished ring with stones of pasteMy sister’s finest treasure.A suitors gift, now black with ageOf value without measure. This box hold moments lost in time.We add things when we’re able.A memory from everyoneWho sat around this table.