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The Oxo Tin
The Oxo Tin Alison Sherriel Voice of Stephen L. Harrison
In the loft of my childhood home there is an old OXO tin.
Its red paint faded, its corners rusting, its lid reluctant to open.
Inside—
buttons and thimbles, needles gone brown with age, buckles without belts, and bits and bobs no one had the heart to throw away.
One day, I spread its contents across a sheet of newspaper.
There were medals from campaigns fought in foreign lands,
buttons cut from uniforms that no longer had men inside them.
I did not understand then that I was handling history—
that every small object had once belonged to a living hand.
The OXO tin is still in that loft.
The house remembers it. But I have moved on.
The Oxo Tin Alison Sherriel Voice of Stephen L. Harrison
In the loft of my childhood home there is an old OXO tin.
Its red paint has faded, its corners are rusting, its lid is hard to open.
Inside—
buttons and thimbles, needles that have turned brown with age, buckles without belts, and bits and bobs that no one had the heart to throw away.
One day, I spread its contents across a sheet of newspaper.
There were medals from campaigns fought in foreign lands,
buttons cut from uniforms that no longer had men inside them.
I did not understand then that I was handling history—
that every small object had once belonged to a living hand.
The OXO tin is still in that loft.
The house remembers it. But I have moved on.