A box lovingly crafted for 3 little girls
It played music with their emotions
Ballerina dreams
Tucked inside the evidence of magical times — trinkets of all kinds
It’s a gift in the forest where natives used to roam and here where the other children also once called this space home
The forest has no boundaries though we try – we draw, disagree, and sign them for the passerby
The eyes can see only a fraction, the ears can only detect the most obvious for lay carpeted across the floor, a world upon a universe with millions of tiny doors
The hisses and chirps, the ticks and tocks, the birdsong and wind all play in the orchestra too — as you enter, the reeds agree, saying let us bend for you
Listen it’s all here for you
We are here for you
Please slow down, look at your feet and participate
The pinch pots and vintage books all have a water view
Which eyes are on the outside looking in at you?
A billion lenses, pressured eyes waiting and watching for what’s next
How would he feel? Hiawatha, if he could see what we’ve done — pushed the majestic to the edges and disenfranchised the rest
Meanwhile, you fry up some bacon and flip the pancake — after all, you’re the newest owner of this shack by the lake
A little box is symbolic and stands to command
It’s our place in time
Why shouldn’t we own it?
Pluck the fish
Pluck the mushrooms
Pluck the huck berries
Should we give back?
Memories of a lifetime are curated on the inside, let them ooze from the old cedar pores as a new story begins
Spirit of the native child, I beg you to rise; please, I coax you from the trees to protect the littles inside
A wooden music box, with a white steel lid, carved butterflies assigned to hope that the next generation gets it right