The box

I keep a box of memories
it’s safely tucked away
but now and then and then again
I bring it out to play.

a marble here a matchbook there
and pictures one or two
of things I’ve done and wars I’ve won
and yes there's one of you

my father’s broken pocket watch
my mother’s broken dreams
my sons first tooth, a letter home
and empty space it seems

oh yes, Sweetheart, I see them now
the feathers gold and blue
we marked them with the day and date
of nineteen-ninety-two

and here's the twig I took for you
from your father's nest
and tuft of down to comfort you
from your mother's breast

and yes, Sweetheart, I understand
I dearly love you too
and if I could I’d spread my wings
and fly away with you.
 

by Mike Bross

Read the story behind this poem
 

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