Sarah M.

Ambrosial Cradle

I have a tiny golden box
It’s blanketed in polished paper
And slumbers on the second shelf of my oak desk,
Peeping out from behind the ceramic piggybank
Until sometimes I notice it and remember

An afternoon shower,
Which pokes my consciousness and prods me like a duckling out of line,
Back to that day I miss so much, where
Purring rain sprinkled glitter over the back porch,
As I sat with my mom at the kitchen table
Together, building a masterpiece

I brandished a glue stick in my right hand
My mom cut out pink paper hearts
Pink was my favorite-
Decorating crafts with my mom was my favorite

First I pasted coral tissue paper onto the lid
Then the white lace trim, a tutu
And gems in the center, an applauding audience
Pirouetting round a miniature plastic ballerina,
As she balanced one leg above her little rosy face

There is nothing special about my tiny golden box,
Except that I made it with my mom
This makes it extraordinary

So I coaxed my childhood inside

A green-and-yellow striped paper clip because it was a birthday present from my favorite teacher
A little ceramic piano-box with a baby mouse sleeping inside because I loved making nests for my stuffed animals
A Christmas wreath brooch (though I don’t even like pins) because it was from my grandmother
A tattered scrap of lined paper from the third grade that reads “1 + 22 + 3 +4= 12” because I was the only one from my class to figure out the problem
A Valentine’s Day card from my adoptive Aunt because receiving mail made me feel like an adult
A rainbow six-pointed star keychain because I colored everything in rainbow, and it was the first time I had used an iron
A match because my mom said never to play with them, so I snuck down to the kitchen one day and snatched it

Sunlight has blanched the dusty parchment
Still, my unfaded memories incandesce vividly


Copyright © 2002-2010 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2010 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission.