treasure poem # 2
we perched on the big wood flour box
next to grama’s stove a good place
out from underfoot but close to the
action of mincemeat doughnuts pies
rolled out on the marble tabletop
when the supply ran low someone
emptied a sack of flour into the box
a sneezy cloud grama made dishtowels
from the flowered sacks my dad sat
on that box as a kid maybe fourteen
argued evolution with his mother till
she was red with upset we are not
descended from monkeys! and she
stirred the pudding so fast it splattered
I saved that worthless box when the
farmhouse went it had been painted
pink it’s been in my cellar till today
when kids doing volunteer work in our
neighborhood applied elbowgrease plus
stripper it needs sanding polyurethane
but will soon look like it once did will
my kids grandkids greatgrands value
it as a family heirloom probably not
they never had the privilege it bestowed
©2016 Jacqueline Jackson
This article appears in Jul 7-13, 2016.
