the shoebox

He unties the aging string
around the shoebox marked “Son,”
gently thumbs through Polaroids,
breath catching with each tender moment:

frogs, caterpillars, muddy feet,
handfuls of plucked grass falling like snow;
each blade of green in the boy’s chubby fingers
a reason to smile.

They must have grinned a thousand times that day.


Copyright © 2012 by Christopher Chaffin – All rights reserved


About cjchaffin

Wordsmithing is my passion. I eat, sleep, and breathe words and phrases, only to regurgitate them and pray that they are better off than when I first ingested them.
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