You bought me so long ago, I can barely remember.
I sat in a box, soft and dark, until early December.
The lights were so bright, the people all so thrilled.
I was pleased, too, my purpose finally fulfilled.
I rested on his hand, warm and shaking with pride.
(But in just a few years, that warmth would subside.)
He built you a chair, and I got hit with a screw.
It left quite the dent, but I protected him for you.
I clanked against bottles whenever he drank.
Those warm hands grew cold, and my hopeful heart sank.
I remember the feel of your cheek on my skin.
That was the night the policemen barged in.
He threw me away, but you picked me back up.
You cradled me softly like a frightened young pup.
I’ve sat in the box for years, now, I think.
I’m losing all hope and mourning my chink.
But look! There you are! Smiling and crying.
Yes, I do believe this man is worth trying.
And here, on his hand, I’ve perched for ages.
I feel a small giggle as he turns the pages
of a little girl’s book, the ink bright and new.
I can’t keep from thinking, “She looks just like you!”