Key

August 18, 2022
'The key to my heart is made of brass,’ said the small girl.
‘Shiny, like gold.
‘It has a ruby in its bow.
‘The stem’s longer than my finger
‘and it has three collars.
‘Its teeth are the old-fashioned kind.’

(Pause.)

‘The key to my heart is very old,’ said the small girl.
‘My grandfather got it from his father,
‘who gave it to my father,
‘who gave it to me.
‘They kept it in a silver box
‘—with a latch.’

(Pause.)

‘The key to my heart looks brand new,’ said the small girl,
‘because it’s hardly been out of its box.
‘Dad used it. Once.
‘His father did, too,
‘His father before him
‘—the same.’

(Pause.)

The small girl passed the key to the dishevelled little owl.
'Here,' she said.
‘I keep my heart
‘—always open. 
'I really don’t need
‘—a key.’