The Magic Box

In the corner of her closet
Among her shoes and such,
Mama kept a magic box!
(At least she said as much.)

I’m not sure that it was magic,
But I know it brought her cheer,
When things were all a muddle
As they sometimes are, I fear.

When bills stacked up,
Or the drain backed up
And the day was bleak and gray,
When a tire went flat,
Or when I was a brat
And her heart filled with dismay,

Into her room she would silently steal,
Leaving her problems behind her.
As if in her room she was safe from despair,
And trouble just couldn’t find her.

If asked where she was going
She would smile a feeble smile,
And say, “To be alone with
My magic box awhile.”

I’m not sure that it was magic,
But it had mysterious ways
Of turning sad and lonely hours
Into cheerful, joy-filled days.

The door would close
So I can only suppose
What enchantment worked its wonder,
But in the course of an hour
Some magical power
Would send her unhappiness asunder.

If the house was still
And you listened well,
You could hear a heart-filled sigh.
Then it wouldn’t take long,
She’d be humming a song,
And you’d know that the gloom had passed by.

She’d come out of her bedroom
And back down the stairs
Whistling some jolly tune.
I marveled how a magic box
Could transform her mood so soon.

I’m not sure that it was magic,
But I think it might have been,
‘Cause there seemed to be some magic
To the mood she’d wind up in.

One day when I was all alone,
When mama was at the store,
And I was feeling sadder
Than I’d ever felt before …

I remembered mama’s magic box
And how it made her smile.
I decided mama wouldn’t mind
If I borrowed it for a while.

I ambled up to her bedroom
And opened the closet door.
There was mama’s magic box
In the corner, on the floor.

It wasn’t really much to look at,
Smaller than I would have guessed.
It wasn’t gold or dressed with jewels,
Just a simple wooden chest.

Carefully I picked it up.
My heart was pounding thunder.
Every inch of me was gooseflesh
As I stood there, bathed in wonder.

Always given to temptation
— More curious than a cat,
I couldn’t hold the magic box
And leave it just at that.

With all the courage I could muster
(‘Cause I was just a kid)
I closed my eyes, and held my breath
And opened up the lid.

Slowly I opened up my eyes.
I was scared – but didn’t care …
I wasn’t sure what magic looked like,
But I was sure it wasn’t there.

There were tattered yellowed photographs,
Letters bundled in a bow,
And a shoe so small it would hardly fit
Upon a single toe!

A pocket watch, a fabric swatch,
A flower pressed and dried,
Some doily lace and a tiny vase
Were all I found inside.

I suddenly knew what I had done
— Was mama going to shout!
When I opened up her magic box
I let the magic out!

I gathered up the contents
That were scattered on the floor,
And gently placed the magic box
Back where it was before.

I’m not sure that it was magic,
But I knew it wasn’t now.
‘Cause I had let the magic out,
Though I wasn’t certain how.

When mama got back home that day,
I made a full confession.
But she didn’t seem to be upset
From her amused expression.

She led me to her bedroom,
Talking as she took my hand.
“There are things about my magic box
You may not understand.”

She took the contents from the box
And spread them on the bed.
Then one by one she picked them up
And this is what she said.

“These photos are of my family.
Though tattered, old, and gray,
They make those I love feel close and safe
As though they were here today.

My grandma made this doily
Each stitch was sewn with love.
I know she’s watching over me
From her heavenly home above.

The pocket watch was my papa’s.
He was handsome, tall and trim.
Whenever I hold his pocket watch
It helps me remember him.

The vase sat on my nightstand
When I was just a child.
On a mountain walk, through a crannied rock
I found this flower growing wild.

These letters are from your daddy
When he was stationed overseas.
And when I’m sad or mad at him
I feel better when I re-read these.

I chose the fabric sample
To recover our old chair.
And the shoe, my son, belonged to you
When you were a baby, small and fair.”

Mama put her arms around me
And hugged me close and tight.
And I understood the magic box
Was magical alright.

But the magic wasn’t in the box
It was the contents held so dear,
That conjured magic memories
And dreams from yesteryear.

I didn’t understand it then,
But now I think I do.
The lesson mama taught that day,
I’m going to share with you.

She said there was a maxim
That her grandmother had told her.
“Magic, much like beauty,
Is in the eye of the beholder.”