I was one of those lucky little gals who got
to have a trunk. It had come down through
the family line on my father's side and he
gifted it to me when I was about five. It
might have had something to do with the
fact that we were impoverished, but dad
said I could keep my special treasures in it,
as well as my secrets. Mr. Trunk, as I call
him, has followed me from home to home,
to Mexico and back to the US again. To this
day, it graces my living room and holds
memories of my childhood within.
Every now and then, when missing my dad
or my heart is hurting, I take off the lamp
and other items that reside there, and gingerly
open the trunk. There is that ship he built me
along with a set of book holders. Pieces of
embroidery I did when I was six, as well as
my last doll grace the bottom of the trunk.
A couple of my favorite childhood books
and even my high school annuals can be
found there.
I don't stay long in Mr. Trunk, but I leave
him in better spirits than when I opened
its well kept secrets. Me thinks I feel sorry
for any child who never got to have a . . .
. . . Mr. Trunk!!!
secrets and treasures
memories of yesteryear
heal my aching heart
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