by Shanna Sandmoen
I pulled out the box, encased in dust and lost memories,
memories that will remain locked in mystery forever.
Beautiful photos; adventures never revealed.
My Grandma, holding a rifle, laughing,
pictures of her dancing in the garden,
so free, gracious, beautiful,
and her smile; I wish I had seen it personally.
She never shared her stories, not until
those final days in the nursing home.
Then she told me of a farm house,
parents and great aunts and uncles I never knew.
Oh how I wish we could speak now!
The box teasing me with it's untold stories.
To my future generations I promise you this:
I will not take all my secrets to the grave.