Carefully, the child placed

her favorite toy

in her hope chest

–manufactured at Pandora Ink—
 
 
holding the cover wide

much longer than necessary

for a final

glimpse

of her cherished toy

–the one she’d carried for

years–

sometimes on the arm

sometimes under wraps

and always under the layers life allows

–she’d never found

another like it, See–
 
 

A savvy teen

she new

how to treat her favorite things

by example

by

“what not to do” 101

–by auditing related toy owners in her immediate area–

…

by trial & error, besides.

And so the unopened box gleamed back at her,

halo-gen light above reflectin’

off its shiny plastic somethin’ fierce.

Spangling

that much-handled

shell in stars she thought

bright enough to blur even an unseeing gaze.
 
 
The woman sighed…

resolutely tamping shut the box

–its lock gone missing in the interim–

fidgety already;

she toyed with the idea of how

she might have played…

safe in the knowledge

her doll

might remain perfect forever.

©Karen Robiscoe

I’ve gift-wrapped

him so long

…in thought…

in talk

~in song~

In-creases I’ve

forgotten–

if he’s

wonderful

or

rotten…