The Old Box – A Poem by Shannon Morgan

The Old Box
by Shannon Morgan

Cleaning out attic-storage,
I spotted an unmarked box.
Placing it on my lap
The tape crumbled,
tears began to fall;
I gently took my Annie Oakley
cowgirl hat, the fire-red
faded to pink, and placed it
on my head.
The stretched suede chin-strap
broke in my hand.
I lifted out the holster with
“Annie Oakley” etched in
silver on the gun.
The leather crackled, the
holster no longer fit my waist.
Sticky with cap-residue
and grime,
I lifted out the gun and
cocked it.
Seeing the stagecoach riding
through the room, a bunch of bandits round,
I announced who I was and took them all single-handed.
The black hats cowered and galloped off — dust billowing through the air. Slowly turning back toward the box,
I lowered my cowgirl outfit to its resting place.
Closing the wooden box
I left with joyful heart.