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 )”