Toy Box

Three Forty Two, just before dawn
still hours remain, for the world to sleep
but alive and wake, in one room
one little white room, the curtains drawn
a quiet yawn...
The beginning, just begun.
and my little eyes, they quavered ever
so slightly, scared to look.
my hand, they took.
stroked to warmth, warmed to life.
and Daddy stroked his baby's hair.
and Momma rubbed, her sweethearts back.
and the doctors hushed, a screaming silence.
so tranquil, so calm, a timeless tickle
of the heart, as its first leap pounds.
and Grandpa hands Mommy,
a little white dolly,
clad in green, bright as Eden herself.
"hang on to that, love." with a kiss on the cheek,
forever, grampa.
i promise.

Three Forty Two,
twenty days past October, on the second year,
a little brighter now, a little clearer, i could see.
time was endless then, forever heaven
in the arms, of my mother and father.
that pail little dolly, her dress is frayed now just the slightest.
her hair, still chocolate.
her gown, still green,
her eyes, still the brightest of blues.
still growing, still aging.
nothing yet waning, and forever had not yet begun.
i didn't understand then, why grampy cried on Sundays,
why he prayed for my Grammy,
who never once held me,
who never saw me with her own pretty eyes.
they said she was beautiful, the best woman in the world,
but death, sometimes he forgets about heart.
and so i listened to grampy,
and i held on to that dolly.
and never, I’ll never let her go.
never grampy.
i promise.

Three Forty Two, Five years in
twenty days past October, so many hours.
and Grampy hands "Wee one" a little paint brush,
purple stick,
tarnished hairs,
stained handle...
so beautiful.
and i watched, with big blue eyes,
as he told me its story, and showed me
the magic it could conjure.
it could show me the world, in just a few strokes,
it could confirm what i had yet to discover.
grampy painted a picture
of a gray, gravel path
and with him, i took the long walk.
It was hot, it was cold
it was endless, it was short.
And it was everything...everything I’d ever be.
And in the future, when I grow old
I bet, that road might just end.
But for now, I’m still young
so much life still unsung...
and I’m still ambling on, in the middle.
I'll touch every stone
I’ll breathe every scent
and in the end, at least I’ll have the memories.
So I hung on to that paint brush,
cause grampy said I must.
And I'll never let go.
I'll never drop it, grampy.
I promise.

Three forty two, nine years sung, nine years shaved,
twenty days past the dawn of October.
And the wind was cold, whispers in my growing hair
like a blare, of winter's first sting.
Grampy, he got older,
and I, I got younger.
But time, time refused the progression.
Little girls down the street, pink bicycles with ribbons,
streaming golden hair, calling out.
And I rode with them, a road so fast
so quick..
hardly a path leading anywhere at all.
I loved, at the time, the clarity, serenity,
of life, when it's not yet begun.
When its young.
Just a kid.
I don't understand, daddy.
I don't understand.
But soon, it was simple.
Death, sometimes he forgets heart.
And his brother, called cancer, fought hard.
The smells of sick, took away everything else.
No more coffee in his breath, just medicine.
No more life in his eyes, just medicine.
No more paint on his fingers, just medicine.
Stupid medicine.
Pointless medicine...
you'll never be the cure.
And I took grampy's hand, while life hung on still, too,
and we held on together, so tight.
And I’ll never let go grampy.
I'll never let go.
I promise.

Three forty two, eleven years.
Twenty days hatched, ten unborn hath October.
My Dollie’s hair, still chocolate.
Her eyes, still blue.
Her gown, still green.
Green as Eden.
My friends, they came closer.
My foes, I had none.
Life was born now, beginning to unfold.
Unfold?
So many more years, left untold.
Untold....
and now, growing up, I’m starting to hear.
I hear mommy and daddy, fighting a little downstairs.
Fighting evil, I suppose.
That's what grampy'd've said.
Daddy used to come home singing
singing silly songs.
And mommy used to come home laughing,
laughing little jokes.
But now, all doorways rings silence,
all laughs stay gray.
All songs stay white, untouched.
And I, I watch, with tired eyes,
as life spins on, spins on...
too fast, I guess.
And we can't catch up.
And it's times like these, when I talk to dolly.
When I make sure she's still safe.
I make sure that her porcelain skin's not chipped,
that her heart hasn't skipped a single beat.
And when she stares back at me, unblinking,
I know that something's missing.
Something's missing.
And so I take grampy's old, tattered paintbrush.
And I take a piece of daddy's pretty paper,
and I make sure, that I’m still me.
And I promise, grampy.
I'm gonna paint, until it's all better.
I'm gonna make this world shine brighter.
I'm gonna remember, grampy.
I'm gonna remember.
I promise.

Three forty two, twenty days past October,
on the fourteenth year...oh, momma, has it really been so long?
So much sung.
So much...done.
This is life, dolly.
This is what all the books are written 'bout.
This is what all the stories tell about.
This is what all the soft songs sing about.
This is it.
But dolly...doesn't understand.
I think, through her small, azure eyes,
she tries too hard to see.
I think, through her pail little ears,
she tries too hard to hear.
And when she does, when she catches a piece of something,
I think it only makes things worse.
She's so confused.
But she's trying, I bet.
I can see it, in the way her eyebrows flinch.
I can see it, when she clutches wordless stories,
and tries to fill them up.
I bet, she's saying something special, in those wordless books.
I bet she's telling the white pages, about everything she's seen.
Maybe someday, I’ll read the words.
And I’ll understand.
For now, let's grow up a little, shall we?
You're too old for toys, close the box now.
Shut her in.
make it dark.
Say goodbye.
Say goodbye, to the barbie dolls, with impossible curves and angles.
Say goodbye, to that little white kitchen set, made of plastic. Made of memories.
Say goodbye, to all those little things, that truly, are nothing of use now.
Say goodbye, while you still have time,
to that dolly with the chocolate hair...
to that dirty, purple paint brush.
To every picture you've ever drawn.
To every dream, she's ever hatched.
Close the lid.
This might not be forever, just give me time.
To grow up.
Because I’m too lost to count on memories,
and I’m too scared to foretell the future.
I'm closing the toy box.
This won't be forever, though, grampy.
I'll come back someday, when I figure it all out.
And I’ll tell you every dream you've missed,
and I’ll paint you every picture.
This isn't it, grampy.
I promise.

Three forty two...
I’ve lost track of the years.
It's been so long, so long, so long...
and life, a once free falling road,
for little girls with bicycles,
is now, so full of hills and bumps, that my feet can't make the walk.
Make the walk.
Make the walk.
And it's gotten longer, the road going backward,
with every step I’ve taken forward.
And I can't put myself in reverse.
I've already put myself in park.
I'm frozen...

The beginning, just begun.
and my little eyes, they quavered ever
so slightly, scared to look.
my hand, they took.
stroked to warmth, warmed to life.

I need some of that, that warmth.
But I don't know where the heat has gone.
Mommy?
Are you out there?
Daddy, please take my hand again.
But what comes to me, is neither mommy or daddy,
but dolly.
And her hair, it's no longer chocolate.
Her eyes, they're no longer blue.
And her dress, has faded.
Faded to brown...
dust covers dolly's face, her rosy cheeks,
and ageless soot rests upon her delicate nose,
and she stumbles, with every step she takes.
“come with me, child. Let's open the box.”

and so, I walk with dolly, of whom has grown so old,
and she shows me, everything I’ve missed,
when life, it started to unfold.

“three forty two, a year unborn.”
and she hands me, a little brown plaque,
with the numbers scratched in gold upon it,
PT 342
my grampy...my grampy's one true home, it had one number,
and years later,
twenty days past October,
it would stand as the number,
in which my life unhatched.
Three forty two, three forty two, three forty two...

“three forty two, the second year.”
dolly gives to me, a tattered teddy bear.
It bears a tag, a red heart, white words.
to “er-bear”, love your uncle and aunt.”
and I stare into its brown button eyes,
and I try to see a little clearer.
But somehow, its still fuzzy, when he opens his mouth,
and says “it was dark in there, child. Why no light?”
my mouth is dry, and I can't answer.
I'm sorry, teddy.
I'm sorry.

“three forty two, three years sung.”
and I am granted, with a pretty pink shell.
Once more, I am walking,
through the endless shore,
my hand, being warmed...
being warmed to life again, by my daddy.
And he bends down, so effortlessly then,
and gives to me, this timeless treasure.
And I rub it to my little ear,
and I imagine, so deeply I try to hear...
and I do.
He says “you've forgotten, child. When you said you'd remember.”

“three forty two, five years lived.”
a briar horse, a golden mane,
frozen in mid leap, mid run...
did I do this to her?
Freeze her.
“Where are you, partner? You've dropped the reigns.”

“three forty two, seven years, seven years...”
in my hand, waits a small, tattered picture.
We're all laughing, we're all smiling,
overjoyed, unconcerned, bright as day...
and I forget, I forget one smile's name...
the smile of a little girl with pail skin,
and light blue eyes,
and chocolate hair,
and a green dress....
and she pleads with me, from the picture,
from the perch in which I have frozen her,
“try to remember, sweetheart. It's on the tip of your tongue.”

“Three forty two, eleven, eleven, eleven....”
daddy sits next to me, steals my book.
Strokes the cover, a small, creeping smile.
He's so proud, of his little girl.
And he hands her a long, leather marker,
transcribed with words of gold.
Pretty, pretty words of gold...
and this, this shred of suede,
would be my greatest, prized possession, as long as time still ticked.
“you lost me, age fourteen, in the halls of that place called high school.
And you cried, for three nights.
Three nights.
But you never found me again.”

“Three forty two, when age....is nothing....”
and my Dollie, she collapses to my arms.
And I hold her...
I cry into her matted, faded hair...
and I embrace the toxic scents of life.
Before its yet,
begun.
And I try to search, in the folds of her gown,
for all the small, little memories I know I've lost.
They're unimportant, tiny recollections,
but they're me, right to the core.
Without them, this dolly, she'd shatter and break,
and the pieces...
they'd never restore.
Without each simple memory...
each promise, that I’ve broken,
my road, this bumpy, twisting road...
would've ended, long ago.

I'm sorry Mommy,
I’m sorry I lost faith in you, for just a little while.
I was young, I was scared...
I think I’ve grown since then, but I’m not sure.
All I needed was your help, your warm, tender hands...
to pull me up. I love you, mommy.

I'm sorry Daddy.
I”m sorry I ask for so much, and do nothing in return.
I'll always be young, I’ll never know, for real, what's right...
I'll always be your little girl.
With the chocolate hair.
And the blue eyes.
And the green gown, green as Eden.
I love you, daddy.

I'm sorry Grampy.
I'm sorry I disobeyed your final request, I’m sorry I dropped the brush.
I've been lost, you see.
So lost, I forgot to ask for directions.
But I can't put myself in reverse,
and no, I can't stay forever in park.
So, I guess all there's left is to move on...
but I’ll always love you, grampy.
I'm sorry I dropped the paintbrush.
I promise, I’ll pick it up.
And I’ll finish that road, you drew so long ago,
when I still, didn't know its meaning.
But now, I think I do, so I’m gonna see where it leads, grampy.
And when I get there, to the end,
I’ll let you know.
And I’ll tell you what a wonderful walk it was.
I love you, grampy.

I'm so, so sorry Dolly...
that I ever shut the lid, that I ever made it dark.
I hope that someday, you'll forgive me,
but for now, lets mend the cracks.
I know that soon, with proper care, I can make you shine once more,
I can turn that chocolate hair to silk,
and your eyes...
they will never too blue.
I'm gonna hold your hand, dolly, everywhere I go.
And as I promised grampy, dolly...
I promise, to never let go.

And...
I'm sorry,
To all I’ve left behind.
I'm sorry to the toy box,
and the life I couldn't find.
I think I’m growing up now, a little more certain every day,
and I think...
that I was wrong, to ever....ever shut the toy box lid.

And now, with stronger, renewed old arms,
I lift the lid once more,
and light pours in,
on all I’ve lost,
been trying...so hard...to find.
There's my barbies, there's my dolls,
there's my teddies, and little stuffed dogs.
There's my story books, and little pink bows,
and there...
there's my dolly, shining, a whole new glow.

Three forty two, a countless year,
twenty days past....what was it?...October...
and I sit here, in this aging home,
in which I’ve always been.
I'm nearing the end, of the path we painted, grampy,
but I’m so glad, so glad the sun is shining.
It'll shine as I cross, the golden finish line,
and fall into your waiting arms.
I'll bring that purple paintbrush, grampy,
and we can paint such pretty pictures.
And this time...
this time, the roads won't ever end, grampy.
They'll go on, forever and ever.
And I’ll bring...
that age old dolly...
and show her, that I never let go, grampy.
I never let go.
I'll show you, that her hair's still chocolate,
that her eyes, will forever be blue.
I'll show you, that her dress, still green...
will never, fade away.
And we'll hang on, all night, grampy.
We'll never have to let go.
Because this time,
the road will never end, grampy.
and the toy box...
will never close.
And so I take grampy's old, tattered paintbrush.
And I take a piece of daddy's pretty paper,
and I make sure, that I’m still me.
And I promise, grampy.
I'm gonna paint, until it's all better.
I'm gonna make this world shine brighter.
I'm gonna remember, grampy.
I'm gonna remember.
I promise.