Something Small

A simple blue glass container

With a top that looks like a feather

It's triangular and fits in the palm of your hand

And dust filling the ridges that will never leave

To the ordinary eye, it is nothing

Just something to hold trinkets and knick-knacks

Yet to me it is filled with a sense of home

It was used by women who I never met

And those that I knew and loved dearly

To me, objects can hold memories and feelings

They can connect generations of people through a simple touch

When I hold this box, or my great grandmother's rosary

I feel the love and emotions of women all of kinds

Strong women, kind aunts, loving grandmothers

And most importantly

The love of family

Objects mean nothing

They are material things that give nothing back to us

Yet, when they are touched and used by those we care about

They can transport and fill us with unimaginable joy