In my Music Box

In My Music Box 

I believe that poetry hides in my music box. In the slippers of the porcelain ballerina with the fiery red dress, dancing beneath the pearl encrusted frame. The sweet and sharp melody ringing from it. From the music box that was given to my grandmother over 50 years ago. I can see the awe in her eyes whenever she winds it up. Her laughter. Her long, red, silky hair hanging in messy ringlets. In her blue and white church dress, and shiny black shoes, her toothless smile.