Granny's Legacy
Her home was my escape
It was an awesome retreat
Full of wonders and surprises
Green glass and old lace
Cut glass and fireplace
A real ticking clock
Fresh laid eggs
Queen Anne legs
And a cracket by the fire
The dresser, complete
With comb, brush and mirror
Tablecloths and silver
A teapot swathed in wool
The folded newspaper
Anchored by a Parker Pen
Reveals a half-completed crossword
Sugar cubes and butter dish
Flank the silver toastrack
But she is gone.
Her essence removed
Like a dying candle, snuffed.
Yes, there is value here
There are pieces which I could keep
To remind me of her.
And yet, as the vultures scramble
for the costliest heirlooms
My heart leads me to the pantry
Row upon row of jars, large and small
Neatly stacked on narrow shelves
Each with a handwritten label
I scan the rows from left to right
But nothing seems of any worth
There are jams and preserves
Marmalades and Pickles
buttons of every size and shape
Ribbons and bows, tacks and collar studs
A myriad of things long removed
from our history and understanding
but my eyes eventually fall on a dusty jar
in the darkest corner, almost hidden from view
and I know I’ve found my treasure
let them have the Wedgwood and the Ivory
they can fight over the antiques
In my trembling hand is held a jar
Which speaks more of Gran than anything else
Gently, I brush my thumb across the dusty label
And tears are born as I read the words:
“Bits of string ( too short to use )”
Copyright © Bill Lindsay | Year Posted 2015
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