Boxes

W hile in the library last week researching polar bears and leopards for yet another school project, I realized the serendipitous benefits of browsing a library. K had previously taken a book out by a Newberry Medal winning author. I decided to find the book that the author had won the award for. Having found it, I opened the book at random and read:

In my closet are two boxes,
the gatherings of my life,
papers,
school drawings,
a broken hairpin,
a dress from my baby days,
my first lock of hair,
a tiny basket woven from prairie grass,
a doll with a china head,
a pink ball,
three dozen marbles,
a fan from Baxter’s Funeral Home,
my baby teeth in a glass jar,
a torn map of the world,
two candy wrappers,
a thousand things I haven’t looked at in years.
I kept promising to go through the boxes with Ma
and get rid of what I didn’t need,
but I never got to it
and now my hands hurt.
And I haven’t got the heart.

September 1934

And just like that I was hooked on [amazon_link id=”0590371258″ target=”_blank” ]Out of the Dust[/amazon_link] by Karen Hesse. The book did not disappoint. It was a quick read but not an easy one as I worked through my lingering feelings of grief and better understood those of my children.

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