I lost something very valuable to me.
Something irreplaceable; a certain kind of key,
With ridges used for a specific kind of lock,
Stitched and attached to a specific kind of box.
A brown-wooden chest in my attic to be precise .
I had tried every other key at least once or twice.
What kills me is the value contained inside.
A memento from my deceased grandmother left behind.
She told me while dying slowly in her bed,
She had something special but wanted to wait instead,
Until she was gone so that when I opened the chest,
What was inside could help put my mind to rest,
But I had lost the key and to make matters worse,
This chest is older than any remedy or curse.
I asked around town but nowhere complacent,
Was a locksmith capable of forging replacements.
They told me they don’t make keys like that anymore,
As if my problems to them seemed like such a chore.
You can only imagine the anger that I bestowed,
Wanting to let go but so desiring to know,
What exactly it was that was inside that chest.
What did she mean by put my mind to rest?
I checked in the house every crack and nook.
I questioned everyone for maybe that key they took.
And I forsook my daily routines; all for that key.
I was going to get to the bottom of this mystery!
So one night with a hacksaw and blade,
I smashed and ripped; O the mess I had made!
Little fragments of wood all over the place,
But I could not open the chest for Heaven’s sake.
This chest was more stubborn than my grandmother herself.
Clearly it cared not about the feelings I felt.
It refused to open through buzz saw and fire.
I had to douse the flames before they had risen higher.
It was almost comical but dumbfounded me,
As if this chest was magical or belonged to royalty.
When I picked up the chest what I found to be absurd.
There wasn’t a noise when I shook it; at least none to be heard.
Its been two years now since my grandmother died,
And this chest left behind I don’t know what’s inside.
So I finally did the only thing for myself to be saved.
I buried the chest next to my grandmother’s grave.
And to this day I myself can never forgive,
Nor forget the days when my grandmother lived.
And what kills me the most and this is no joke,
I’ll always remember the words my grandmother spoke:
“There is a key that I have that opens a chest,”
And what is inside could help put your mind to rest.”
I can’t help but feel guilty for a key that’s not traceable,
But even worse I lost something irreplaceable.