When I was in first grade we made shoeboxes to send overseas.
My teacher said our material things could really help these families.
She said we were doing much better than those we haven’t met,
So it was our responsibility to share what we were so lucky to get.
Shampoo, socks, books, maybe a small game or toy.
Be sure to specify if it’s for a girl or a boy!
We’re doing such great things, aren’t you so excited?
Run home and tell your parents, they’ll be delighted!
I remember vividly sitting on my brown carpet floor,
Collecting trinkets from my room that a girl less fortunate than me would adore:
A half-empty bottle of perfume,
Last year’s winter hat,
A hand-written note carefully lain flat.
I sheepishly ported my shoebox to school,
For I knew I had broken the teacher’s rule:
She said, “new items only, since this is gift giving.”
I knew I couldn’t do that. Hopefully she’d be forgiving.
Upon arriving, I placed my box on the table with the others,
They looked better than mine, probably hand-picked by their mothers.
Once the box had parted, my anxiety washed away,
Upon the waves of the ocean it was probably traversing today.
I imagined the elation on that little girl’s face,
In some dirt-floor hut in a faraway place,
Feeling like a princess wearing mom’s perfume,
The way I pretended in my little, three-person room.
Today, I realized that my shoebox was junk.
Probably didn’t even make it into that parent’s trunk.
Never a word shared with me.
I liked it better when my shoebox was at sea.
redgbee.com 