Just an Old Attic

Written by: Virginia Muller

As we ransack Grandma's jumbled attic 
in her  blatant old house,
numerous ladybugs and even a mouse 
snared in yellow dust, layered thick.

A rusty dress form displays only a hat
and a distant wall sports a battered ole'  bat.
Boxes of antique shoes are
staged in a perfect row.

Scads of newsworthy magazines, 
records of years past,
pictures, fashions of Victorian times
in frames, made of wood to last.

From a rickety stairwell
it's an effort to  sneak a peek.
There's little chance to run around,
no space for hide and seek.

Large lofty windows appear to leak
as the floor feels unsound.
A passé leather trunk
full of winter scarves and such
sits on a mattress, once a GI's bunk.

Ah, there's a large Webster's lexicon
next to pieces of broken glass
from a battered kitchen hutch

A brass rack holds a faded quilt
draped in a heaped mass.
There's a wheel chair, a crutch -
wonder where those have been?

There's Grandpa's old uniform
with many medals, somewhat torn.
An empty silver flask that once held his Gin.

A child's rockin' horse sits alone
beside an honest-to-God telly 
with a cradle & faded numbers 
from overuse of long ago.

A recipe file in a dark corner, 
at least that's what the label says.
I wonder how often Grandma sat up here
after Granddad passed away?

Many old treasures, to her so dear,
as well as her Bible & an old rug
upon which she would kneel to pray.