Prompt Two Response: "Granddad's Box"

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Worddly Prompt: 

The engraved wooden box had been in my family for generations, and now it was mine.

I remembered it, from the stories I was told,

how it shivered and moved and motioned through time.

It was dark oak, lacquered, with heavy iron hinges along its lid's spine.

Though no one knew exactly where the family got it, we knew it was old.

The engraved wooden box had been in my family for generations, and now it was mine.

Granddad said maybe his father's father had found it, maybe along some coastline--

“maybes” were the best he could offer, entranced as he was by its inlaid gold,

how it shivered and moved and motioned through time.

But that was when he had slipped mostly away, not Granddad's prime,

back in the days when he searched the world over for expensive items that could be sold.

The engraved wooden box had been in my family for generations, and now it was mine.

Trinkets he'd found were displayed in the shop he named “Nellie's Pantomime”

underneath the family's second story flat. The box, though, was something he'd always hold,

because of how it shivered and moved and motioned through time.

Granddad gone, the store empty, I was the one to make that two-story climb

and bring down the box, with its glistening handle, and fancy inlays scrolled.

The engraved wooden box had been in my family for generations, and now it was mine.

Here with the box, now, in my own place, I'm

hesitant to open it. Worried, perhaps, about the moths, the dust, the dark, the stories, the mold.

The engraved wooden box had been in my family for generations, and now it is mine:

how it shivers and moves and motions through time.