An Empty Box

An Empty Box My oldest daughter got her diamond ring. Brother Bob’s daughters choose next Each reaching into the box choosing some memento. Grandchildren next. I looked away Telling myself it’s part of the process. I don’t remember most of those things. She never wore much jewelry. Ohio born. Mid Country common sense. But the costume jewelry So long in the dresser drawer Perhaps will be a treasure For her grandchildren. The box is nearly empty. Two things remain that nobody wanted. A pair of pinking shears And a tin filled with a thousand buttons. I’ve had them ever since.