The Ungiven Gift

It was pink, 

worn old, and

covered in sheets of grey.

Inside, chairs and furniture 

stood soldier-like,

abandoned but at attention in this

toy house.

My hands used to raise high,

almost touching the stars

in front of my great grandmother,

small in her wheelchair. 

When I grow up,

I will buy you a big house!

Everyone laughed at

the innocence, the silliness

of a young girl.

Everyone but her.

Holding my hands tightly,

her smile carried

afternoon sunshine,

bowls of candy

and all the love that could’ve existed

in the world.

My parents found it amusing,

trying to withhold their smile as

my fingertips felt around a new toy,

a miniature house,

If only she had waited, 

when the pink was bright,

when the chairs and tables shone purely, 

when it was cozy,

and when I could’ve given it to her.

Too small.

Too early.

Her lips are now a thin line,

a shadow of the warmest smile

and the toy house stands,

abandoned.

But still,

my

ungiven-gift,

my 

dream house.