My Grandpa's Trunk
A trunk is made for memories to keep
Things of the heart that truly run deep.
My grandpa had just such a box
stored away with other necessary 'stuff' -piled on top.
It can be made of anything; part metal, part wood, plain or fine
Latches in the front and hinges behind
It doesn't matter its fiber content
It's whats inside that does sooo tempt.
It's color, you could say, is decisively olive green
Sitting silently in a bedroom corner, it wasn't always seen
It moved with him where ere he went, memories to store and hold
Children were not allowed even a peek - to save their souls.
My grandpa was a hard worker who forged a livin' out of MacBeth's mine
His trunk cradles records of toil paid in script.. nary a dollar nor a dime
Rent, food, clothes and doctors all summed up in receipts that yield no tangible dreams
Gardening, hunting, bartering, and sharing...a living by any honorable means.
Despite all of this God made him contented
and thankful for each day he was given.
One night my papaw made the journey from this world to the other
Soon it was time to open his trunk, me and my mother.
We took things out with the greatest of care...
Discussed their meaning and shed some tears...
A small child's homemade slingshot
a tiny toy from a cracker jack box
a marriage certificate tattered and torn
an ancestors' record of having left this world forlorn.
We lay out each... one - by - one
And watched his life unfold - until it was done.
You see, his treasures had no earthly value,
the things that meant the most were family-he would tell ya.
I was young and apt not to listen those years before he passed away
But from his trunk, I spend time to read and glean today
The smell of age each time it is opened does not offend
this old trunk and its contents have become my friend.
Electronics does all the storing now
everything you can think of is run by digi-tal
But I am happy to sift through papaw's treasures
to listen, to learn, to remember him forever.