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Poem

From deep recesses of my mind
I bring a great great-grandma’s face.
She left no photograph behind.
I dream her dressed in bits of lace,
Tatted perhaps by her own hand,
A talent she didn‘t leave to me.
She labored and loved and lived and left
No memories for her progeny.

I’ve traced her name, all I can do
To give her substance, make her real,
A living being who could cry
Could laugh and all emotions feel.
There was a time I could have asked
Her granddaughter of what she knew.
That chance is now forever lost
No one is left to give a clue.

Dear Grandma I lend you my pen,
Please tell about the life you led.
Be free to speak your mind through me
And say the things you would have said.
A wealth of stories left untold
And lessons from which we could have learned.
Dear Mollie Blosser, I’d then record
The place in history you have earned.

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