Resurrection Awaits

The attic corner

With its two tenants

A matchbox beside a cigar box

Miniature mausoleums where

Certain family memories were laid to rest

Me, the rusty key in the larger tomb

Him, the agate marble taw in the smaller

Longevity buddies we were

Somehow…

We knew we were forgotten generational relics

Yet still with a unique life of resilience

A trait humans eventually lost

Occasionally…

The attic floor-door was abruptly raised

Just enough vibration to give us die-hards

A chance to change positions

Always a welcome bonus

The marble rolling about

Me, sliding my rusty antiquity to the other side

Such communication was rare

But oh, so appreciated was the gift

Then…

The day came when the current generation moved to better digs

We were tossed aside

Container-fill

But…

New York loves their dumpster diving

And a cigar box crunched next to a matchbox

That’s intriguing to the eyes of treasure hunters

The boy was maybe twelve or thirteen

His dad… maybe forty

We ended up in a homeless tent

But we still had each other for company

Funny…

How special a rusty key and agate marble

Can be to those humans without much

Happy now

We’re taken out regularly

Marble gets spit-polished

And me?

Well, let’s just say I’m starting to feel really special

Dad is working on polishing off the rust

Is this what a key’s rebirth in eternity’s endlessness might be like?

I bet I fit somewhere, eh?

It’s all good.