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MEMORY INVADES HER STEAMER TRUNK Wilma Despain Centerfield, Utah Non-Professional Division First Place Poetry Who held this fan, this brooch and painted cup? Who sent this exquisite valentine, Lace-edged, with lyric love-words- And hearts and flowers in riotous design? Who loved this doll's cloth body, china head, Her eyes still wide? Her boots and clothing span centuries Of fickle fashion's tide. See this curly lock, so soft and warmly dark In earlier years? A sampler stitched, spanning 'bridge' to home, Has been washed in scalding tears. Dainty gloves had clung to someone's arm, So strong to hold, And someone's caring hand had put them here To keep in precious, satin fold. Faded letters spill within her steamer trunk, And a key of once bright brass; Had it unlocked cliffed canyon rim and furnaced plain-To somehow let them pass? Yes, God did lay low the hills, the unmeasured Miles of valleys wide; No sign marked or pointed stretching trail; Surely God blessed them as guide. I'm deeply grateful that she forgot self, That she dared to pioneer and hope. Truly glad she carried her gift to me in crucible Of faith, up tortured slope! I have her song, her each year's trek in history, Her precious books. I'm thankful she saw saved place in meadows of the moon, And that she came to look. Source: Memories from diaries, D. U. P. lesson books, biographies. -17- |
