I am published in the October/November/December issue of The Storyteller Magazine. My poem, "Great-Grandma's Music Box," was based upon memories of my Great Grandmother Agnes, who died when I was in 2nd grade. She gave me a beautiful old-fashioned jewelry chest/music box, that had an upholstered top with the scene that inspired this poem.
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Great Grandma’s Music Box
The soft ancient wood, trimmed with elegant lace,
shows a girl on her toes with short golden locks,
dancing to tunes from her mothers gold harp,
an image engraved into great grandma’s box.
The tune makes me think of my not so long past,
brings with it the memories of youth’s many dreams,
of princesses, singing, and long frilly dresses,
of reading, and friends, and of childhood schemes.
The notes float so close that I seem taken back
to a yard filled with lilac and tall hollyhocks,
where I ran and I laughed through the long summer days
to the hum and the tick of great grandmother’s box.
I remember her voice so aged and so low
while running her hand down the length of my hair,
as the music of life still played in her heart
and the song reassured it would always be there.
The tune is still with me along with her voice.
I imagine her kissing my unruly locks,
and although she is gone and won’t see me grow up,
her essence still sings in her magical box
shows a girl on her toes with short golden locks,
dancing to tunes from her mothers gold harp,
an image engraved into great grandma’s box.
The tune makes me think of my not so long past,
brings with it the memories of youth’s many dreams,
of princesses, singing, and long frilly dresses,
of reading, and friends, and of childhood schemes.
The notes float so close that I seem taken back
to a yard filled with lilac and tall hollyhocks,
where I ran and I laughed through the long summer days
to the hum and the tick of great grandmother’s box.
I remember her voice so aged and so low
while running her hand down the length of my hair,
as the music of life still played in her heart
and the song reassured it would always be there.
The tune is still with me along with her voice.
I imagine her kissing my unruly locks,
and although she is gone and won’t see me grow up,
her essence still sings in her magical box
~Brienne Adams
I feel Great Grandma Agnes's spirit with me when I read this poem, Brie. I am so glad that you will always have her box to listen to and to remember her by. She loved you so very much.
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