I took out my old cigar box which held the treasures of a kingdom.
My own kingdom filled with seashells and dried out
Sand dollars to shake and rattle on cold rainy days.
My prize-winning marbles were there as well.
My special treasures had mermaid glass,
I truly believe it came from the kingdom
down below the crashing waves.
I live by the ocean so I can dream.
I do remember seeing a mermaid once or twice,
throwing out the remnants of broken bottles
cast aside by drunken patrons
of coastal restaurants.
They would become my special glass
after years of churning between the sand
and currents of my ocean.
Church bells would ring at noontime
to announce the blue plate special of the week.
There are no more church bells and
blue plate specials except those
kept inside the old and tattered
cigar box of my youth.
When feeling old and sad
and feeling out of sorts, I search beneath my
bed and amongst unswept dust
to reclaim my sovereignty
that has always been there to see.
Theresa Dould Cummings© 3/29/2009
Theresa Dould Cummings
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-old-cigar-box/
