Let Me Tell You a Story
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and the story goes like this . . .
I walk up the dusty, dark staircase that had been my favorite place,
playing with my dolls, make believe, dreaming of meeting a prince;
Wanting to grow up, but that was many years ago, many heartbreaks ago,
my reason today, Grandma has left this world and all in the attic is mine.
The door has not been opened in years, it creaks and groans as I push,
I stand in the doorway, finding the courage to enter the dampness;
The sun filters in through a small window, dust drifts, cobwebs lace the corners,
the atmosphere silent, like death, echoing of the past as I look about.
No one else wants any of this, they call it junk, only I know the treasures,
passing by an old lamp, a stroller, a rocking chair, a chest of drawers, a bed;
Portraits of ancestors long forgotten, dusty old things, treasures from the past,
a peacefulness comes over me but I am searching for something special.
And there it is pushed into a corner, an antique chest, long forgotten,
it holds the vintage clothing, jewelry, and writings of the child that was me;
Things I had treasured playing dress up, pretending, making up stories,
kneeling, my hand touches the ornate surface brushing away dust.
Slowly, I open the lid, peeking inside, everything is there as I had left it,,
my eyes fill with tears, memories swirling in my head of that little girl;
Dressed up in Grandma's old clothes, writing stories on the attic room floor,
stories that will become poems for I have found my lost treasure chest.
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July 21, 2013
Poetry/Narrative/Let me tell you a story
Copyright Protected, ID 07-494-069-21
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Submitted to Premier contest, Your Best Poem,
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton, Judged 07/2013
Second Place
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Submitted to the Standard contest, Any Old Poem #4,
sponsor, Skat,
Third Place
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Submitted to the Standard contest, Treasure Chest,
Anthony Slausen,
Fourth Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2013
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