Little Brass Bed, Your Time Will Come

Little brass bed
Sits in a box, all broken down.
Waiting for time to pass.

It still holds up.
It still has use.
But not for the one who put it in a box.

To her,
It only lives among the dead.
Her oma.

It has become part of her past.
Away in a box.
Stacked in a closet.

It is kept company
With everything that once was,
Everything that has been replaced.

The handmade blanket still warms.
The small mattress still forms,
To the tiny lifeless bodies.

Little brass bed,
A doll bed,
An heirloom.

-Christine