Lydia
I first thought it just an old purse,
hand-tooled- child sized-
with braided leather strap and aged patina-
purchased in an antique shop
to hang on a wall or place on a shelf.
But something unexpected came with the purse,
it seems to have an id-
that draws and imparts deep melancholy-
that speaks to me over the years-
of a treasured gift from a loving parent-
a memento of happy days-
that blissful innocence could not foresee
ever coming to an end-
of tragedy and pathos- then old age-
of living with regret and dying alone.
What is this pervading id- the deep sorrow
that is sensed- to whom did it belong-
why does it linger here? The reason seems
very clear, I think I know the name-
is it She- the one inscribed…
Lydia Fiedler, Portland Expo 1905?
You may rest now Lydia- go in peace- and
know that your treasure is safe with me.
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