Shoebox

On her lap is the shoebox
she holds every day,
while she watches out the window,
the world she is no longer in.

Once a day she lifts the lid,
lets aged fingers
sift through memories,
pick up pieces of the past.

         pictures of her husband, flower dried
         from their first date, drawings done
         by children, poem from a friend, old-
         fashioned photos of her parents, piece
         of silken wedding dress, gift pin from
         retirement dinner, tiny confirmation
         Bible, seashells from both oceans

Nurses pass and check in often.
Sometimes they stay awhile,
to listen, to learn of her box,
of her.

Back at the nurses' station
some wonder why she wants to
keep on living, "Sad how she
hangs on to that box."

Others smile, the ones who stop,
who fix her hair and chat.
They know it is not simply a box
that she cherishes, a container
for her reason to live.

It is her life she relives daily,
the happiness she's known.
Her present is that shoebox-
                   and what a gift
                   she has to give.