protected
east-side perennials
all winter long
while she was gone
possibly to die
but she rallied
like the iris in springtime
and the mice adjourned
after playing as they do
while the cat’s away too long …
not a corner unswept
not a cobweb ignored
no cabinet or drawer
unattended
as nearly nine decades were
unearthed streamlined squared-away
made ready for her return …
surely her faith
brought her home
where she was the last to know her decline
where precious was buried beneath newer and more
and we’ll never know what fourteen bathing suits were for
but I got to know her
before I saw her face
day after day revealed her personality
discoveries degrees destinations
theology along with teaching
memorabilia from St. Thomas
a 50’s model hairnet
individual stockings in a box
from a now obsolete hosiery store
delicate tatting overlaid the Roaring Twenties baby gown
bags and totes and hats in boxes
books all around …
non–essentials sorted marked and labeled
possessions packed or pitched with intuitive golden rule
but there were laughter and tears
when a package appeared
falling from too many sweaters piled high
tissue paper wrap nearly crumbled
ancient and dried
folded over a red wool jacket and bonnet with a slash in the wide brim
three year-old size with patch pockets
large white buttons double-breasted
white fur cuffs and collar trim
with a faded note pinned to the lining inside
written in her mother’s hand -
This was Flora’s – she took the shears, cut the bonnet
and she got spanked for it …………
Domestic Violet
Semper Vi ~
Survivor . . . from the VORTEX
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