THE MUSIC BOX by PENELOPE IRIS

They left the baby for their youthful adventures
when she was six months old
in the capable hands of her Grandparents
who already had six children.

The Grandmother working along side her husband
on the farm chopping off heads of chickens
steaming plucking cleaning frying
baking bread hanging clothes on the line
stooping in the garden tending animals
always having time for children
carry and hug fill them with love
watch their plays kiss their wounds
understanding accepting stearn and forgiving
the warmth of sunshine in her smile

The Grandfather stoic steady 
an educated man in farm country
graduated from high school
love buried in his heart with a shell
thick as a cow pie dried in the sun for days
you knew he was happy when
you heard him whistling
animal control administrator birth the pigs and calves
drown the extra kittens and puppies in the pump house
smack your backside as you ran in the door
let you know who's boss at the dinner table
his sense of humor "Pass the potato, spud"
children should speak when spoken to 
let the women handle the loving care
then his age-mellowed heart finally giving a hug.

The parents became visitors
in the big country house
like Fitzgerald and Zelda they would roll up the drive
in new shiny  cars and stylish clothes from someplace
far away
someone special the child guessed
the way everyone fluttered around 
Mommy Iris and Daddy Fred they said.

Daddy Fred always bearing gifts doing a song
a dance magic tricks and jokes for the kids
hunting and chores with the men
cooking with the women
Clark Gable in an apron.

Mommy Iris always beautiful in silk blouses 
smelling like expensive perfume and cigarettes
best woman of the year 
serene and gentle with a soft lilting voice
not allowed to touch the baby much
"let your Mother do that," he said.

The grandmother said the baby couldn't go to sleep
without a music box
the soft lilting tunes like laughter in the rain
The grandmother said she got letters from Florida tear-stained
pleading "Don't touch her to walk don't teach her
to talk or cut her hair I want to do that 
when I come back."
he promised her they would soon 
as soon as he got famous soon as he got his next job
soon as they got ahead
soon.

Even the grandmother couldn't stop the baby from growing up
in love with the high climbing trees pastures with muddy ponds
orchards of apples plums and pears the stonehouse
full of bushel baskets and pungent damp aromas
digging in the earth for fresh vegetables
rain barrels tree houses and tire swings a menagerie of animals
dear aunts and uncles playmates storytellers
running always running
loving the feel of the wind through her hair 

Daddy Fred's dreams still unrealized 
business schemes bulged his pockets
he had to make his promise good
Mommy Iris finally got her baby back
a six-year-old-free-spirited-country-child
in a city apartment homesick
bordering on all out rebellion
little sympathy for unrequited Mother love.

Her new adventures shopping lots of dresses shiny shoes
big department stores dancing lessons city parks
unpronouncable foods in fancy restaurants 
pretty colored lights and bands that people danced to 
pretty people all in Sunday clothes
new public manners to learn
lady ways and lady words
kicking leaves on the way home from school dawdling
looking for a high climbing tree a place to run
so many city rules
come right home don't dawdle don't stray don't don't

Daddy Fred appearing in daylight occasionally
like an actor auditioning for his performance
singing Frank Sinatra songs
teaching her to dance the soft shoe
and sing Cowboy Joe
a disappearing act as well
Mommy Iris gazing out the window waiting watching
still and silent as a stone.

Mommy Iris always beautiful  in silk blouses
smelling like expensive perfume and cigarettes
best dressed woman of the year
serene and gentle with a soft lilting voice
woke her for school with laughter and a song
worked nights dressed up in business suits
keeping all the diners happy in the softly lit
dining room.

On Mommy Iris's day off work
they had lady lunches and movies
letting her daughter choose her funny ones
swinging in the park miniature golf
swimming in a blue city pool
she watched Mommy Iris loving her laughter
Mommy Iris watched her loving her
wondering at her growth trying to catch up 
on all that she'd missed 

The sickness came 
too soon
in their short time together
hospital rooms sterile gowns
sterile smells 
long hours filled with books puzzles
and short visits with Mommy Iris
her lilting voice
her laughter in the rain
serene and gentle
and then she was gone
she didn't go to Florida this time
and she wasn't coming back.

Back in her high climbing trees
green pastures and orchards
running with the wind in her hair
as it whispered her name in a soft lilting voice
like a music box with a ballerina on top
going round and round.


Penelope Iris Nigh
1996