NaPoWriMo: Day 17 – Smorgasbord Sunday
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For Sunday’s Whirligig: Wordle #55
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green, blue, red, shoes, loose, pants,
dining, ants, good, news, miles, whining
For The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #247
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forget, stretch, rest, left, hole, lost,
sight, first, shell, feathers, rattle, old
Poets United: Poetry Pantry #298
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Small Gifts
Muted green and blue sea shells rattle
loosely in cardboard box. Handful
of sand is lost, grain by grain, through
tiny hole now worn in one of its
corners.
Panting a little, stretches her arm to rest
left hand on cover of the old memento.
Recalls how she once stored feathers
in carton her mother had gotten with
a new pair of shoes.
Brilliant red swirls, now faded to soft
pink. Time has dined on exterior,
like ants laboriously moving over its
once bright face, slowly carrying it away
to some forgotten elsewhere space.
At first, she’d whined about effort it
took to do this ‘good’ thing for herself.
Now knows these miles she walks each
morning, with her old treasure box, provide
her with sights, sounds, small gifts to self
that keep her breathing.
Elizabeth Crawford 4/17/16
Notes: Fiction built on memories and stories. Just following the words. Used them all.
Image is a pen and ink drawing put through kaleidoscope app, then digitally converted to sepia tones. What can I say? I really like to play.
Soul's Music 
I love the thought of those mementos – we should be adding to that box every day.
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That last line left me absolutely breathless… gorgeous write 🙂
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When young we discover the world our own way by collecting things that attract or amuse us quite unaware that we are indeed educating ourselves in some primordial way so that we can understand and fit into the world we now live in. This really is a beautiful post Elizabeth.
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Beautiful to have a memory box that is poignant and healing…so nicely expressed.
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Small gifts are the best gifts and the treasures that keep us breathing – oxygen – strangely i had to get some new shoes this week and the smell of them in the box reminded me of being young and the magic of keeping it all new and safe under the bed – of course you have to wear the shoes but that little box can be a trip to the moon and back when you fill it up with little things
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As always, a miraculous compilation in a small small space. Well done.
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Playing’s good, Elizabeth! I really like this… I want one of those boxes.
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I think we all need to have such an old treasure box filled with mementos to keep ourselves breathing!
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I love how the words move you with thoughts and images richly built into a poem…another great one!
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Oddly, this week, I took MY treasure box out from under the bed and poked through it a bit. It, too, has weathered. I didnt plunge too deep, put it back under the bed. But it is nice to know it is there, full of written words from special people, special cards, and a photo or two. Sigh. Loved your poem, especially the last line.
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Beautiful images Elizabeth & how lovely is the old treasure box of memories…
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That third stanza is stunning. Your image of the ants… I love this piece, Elizabeth. It speaks gently of aging.
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love the use of ‘the box’ here
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I like this idea of doing things for ourselves that keep us breathing….that self-care piece that we so often neglect too readily. Gorgeous reminder of the importance of that.
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Very nice… each Christmas (last few years) I have been giving my children boxes and sometimes paper bags with “stuff” I have collected about them when they were growing up.
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This is something to place inside your treasure chest. Just lovely, and so is the image.
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There’s a gentleness to this which I like very much.
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This is a splendid write .. very beautifully written!
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My favorite part…
Time has dined on exterior,
like ants laboriously moving over its
once bright face, slowly carrying it away
to some forgotten elsewhere space.
…loved it!!
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