My Grandmother's Chest Of Drawers

1.
Filled with coins bearing forgotten kings
it shudders under the weight. I burrow my hand
up to the elbow, fish out change from dead nations,
letting it sift between my fingers: caustic silt
many men lost their lives for, I'm sure.

2.
Always with a clink of medals, its opening jars me:
a brilliant flash of undiminished accomplishment.
The years left an impression, which can be felt
only by touch. A rush of nostalgia I don't own.

3.
They look like pens, vaguely. I try to write with
one, but it has no nub. They extend. I point to
locations on a map marked with multicolored pins.


4.
A bear carved from ivory stares blankly at a swan
made of glass, it's fragile neck wrapped in brown paper,
splinted with a tongue depressor. Open it carefully:
step by step and they won't be startled apart. She always
watched to make sure, lamplight dancing in the corners
of her eyes.