Ambling Back
by Cheryl Miller

Tarnished mirrors with worn handles,
thin handkerchiefs held together
with embroidered flowers on frayed corners,
skeleton keys, upright porcelain palms with ringed fingers,
costume brooches of colored glass, beads, and faux pearls
glued to gold-plated bases
missing hardly distinguishable bits –
trinkets and trash lay about
the maroon velvet base of the glass case. Beyond
tables laden with linens
lined the narrow aisle.
Stains secreted within the printed folds of
red-blushed gold pears and gold-blushed red apples,
tablecloths of unknown heritage,
of lost heart-to-hearts.
Farther along hung a multi-rung
quilt rack of double wedding ring,
log cabin, flower garden creations,
some seams coming apart,
some threadbare materials returning to
loose loom status.
Such are family stories.
On a nearby table rested embroidered pillowcases
from various stages of remembered sleep,
bluebirds draping ribbons over red hearts,
pink roses in the autumns of their lives,
edges held together with gaps of green crochet.
From pegs on the wall
hung veiled, granny church hats,
mostly black. In the back
upon a chair in a corner slumped
Raggedy Ann,
a bit of a tear in her apron,
but, nevertheless, a smile
beneath her red triangle nose.



 

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