Memories

Hanging on tiny pegs deep within the ole’

country store, filled with scents of Autumn.

The replica’s of the past preserved in rust

and weary wood lean against white wash walls.

There in the middle of the vast array of

yesterday’s wears and pickled pears I

looked over to see the wonderful

handkerchief made of white organdy.

I was without protest taken to a place

so long ago within a southern church.

With deacon pews made of hard wood

and curved at the ends where I sat

sitting next to my grandmother.

Her scent of lavender and Jergens

Lotion combined with the seasons

brought in from the open window

Near-by, of trees, and flowers.

The handkerchief was wrapped around

her fingers as they wove into one another.

Her hands laid in her lap of homemade

dress, with tatting and laced collars.

Her thumbs were covered with the lace

handkerchief as she circled them around

and around, (as I watched), never breaking

rhythm the handkerchief would go.

The choruses were sang from ole’ gospel songs,

and the preacher would change his sermon about

one thing or another and the people would often

come and go, but not this constant memory.

The organdy lace handkerchief with painted

flowers and lace on the tips were always

in her hands, covering and keeping timing,

with timeless memory sitting next to Grandma…

© CMM   2011