3WW CLVII — The Wooden Box
The Wooden Box
Ambitious, I searched out the wooden box.
A time passed, and it was located behind the
coats from last winter, hanging forgotten.
Fumbling with the latch, I finally opened
the wooden box, immediately assaulted with
memories and aroma’s. My father owned this box.
On Sunday morn, each week he would bring out
this self same wooden box and take scuffs and scrapes
accumulated out of our shoes and boots. The smells
would linger, in the air and on our feet for hours
and how he pulled an incredible shine from what
had been ugly footwear amazed me then. And now.
Ambitious, I bend to the task, a quiet communion
with my father, who is unaware but pleased
nonetheless…
12 Comments
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Last.fm Recently Placed
A wonderful tribute to the sounds and smells of the shoe-shine kit. I have the same memories, even when I open my own box — a box my dad gave me years ago.
Do-Over
I bought my kit at a flea market. However, I still think of the Men in my family who always had their shoes shined.
Yes, this brought back memories to me, too. A great remembrance.
I have become increasingly aware of how smell or simple activity is a memory trigger…
I like how you’ve taken us intimately through your experience, a simple memory that carries a warm feeling. The word “communion” works especially well in the last stanza. Just lovely!
Glad you enjoyed it Jade, and thanks for your comment!
Oh, yes, the memories flood back — great!
This pulled my heart strings! What a lovely homage to your dad…
I can relate to that..
Review in verse
Excellent piece. I love it.
Comments.….
A shoe shine kit,but the way you related the memories was wonderful.
Mahatma and me