The Attic
Victoria Gouldthorp
Tom Howard/John H. Reid Poetry Contest 2008 (view all the winners)
Most Highly Commended
Slats of sunlight peek through the high narrow window
Shadows fall on an ancient rocking chair
It creaks like an arthritic joint
As she sits, rocks slowly
Surveys the crowded, cramped space
It seems smaller somehow
Tiny dust particles dance to a silent tune
The hazy light against the dark is the stage
For their unchoreographed ballet
She looks to the far corner
Smiles as her eyes fall on it
The mirror is still there
How many times had she stood before it
Twirling, singing, just talking
With her handsome prince or
Her secret friend,
Sally was her name
Her best friend.
No matter that only she saw her
After all, she was her friend
And Sally didn't like to go downstairs
The huge trunk stood open
The red dress on top
It had always been her favorite
She picked it up, held it in front of her
It used to drag on the floor
Now it came just below her knee
She laughed
It echoed in the quiet space
The black hat with the crimson feather found itself on her head
She tilted it a little over her left eye
Winked at herself
Her pretty green eyes sparkled
She grabbed the old mink stole
Draped it over her shoulder
Remembering the fantasies of childhood
Dreams of long ago
She sighed, put everything back
Moved to the other side of the room
An overstuffed cardboard box splits
Dainty blue and white china cups and saucers
Spill onto an antique table
She walks closer, picks one up
Runs her finger over the crack and chip
Finds another with the handle missing
Gently she picks each piece out
Examines them carefully
Separates the whole from the broken
Makes a silent vow to return soon
Retrieve them for her own hutch
Her search continues
The hinges of the tiny closet groan loudly in protest
A creature with too many legs scuttles across the floor between her feet
Causing a tiny shudder to climb her spine
She takes a deep breath, continues on
There among the cobwebs is one last box.
She bends, tries to lift it
It is heavier than it looks,
She drags it across the worn wooden planks
To the center of the room, and looks inside
The quilt is faded and threadbare
When was the last time that she snuggled under that blanket
In her grandmother's bed
If it was so long ago, why can she still feel the warmth
Remember the weight of it on her chest as she breathes
In and out, up and down
Why can she see herself so clearly
Tucking her chin and nose under it
So that only her eyes are peeking out into the dark
The quilt takes its place on the table with the unbroken china
She returns to the box
Buttons, pins, bits and bobs from days gone by
Finally, at the bottom of the box her search comes to an end
Leatherbound and fragile, faded with age
Her grandmother's photographs lie sleeping
She sits on the floor, the album in front of her
Pages turn slowly
Time has no meaning here
An infant held in the arms of its mother
A bride and groom stand in muted tones of black and white
People she has never seen before look back at her
Stoic, strong people
She wonders if they were as unhappy as they appear
Slowly, the faces become more familiar
Smiles increase, and color slowly seeps in
Perhaps life is a little easier
Her grandfather sits with two children on his lap
One is her mother, the other, a little boy
It is the last picture of the little boy
Scarlet fever—her mother had told her
How does one smile after a loss like that, she wonders
The light fades in the tiny attic room
Precious memories carefully in tow
She makes her way down the stairs of the old farmhouse
The overhead light shines down on the kitchen table
Painstakingly, so as not to damage the fragile keepsakes
She removes some of the photos from the album
Mounts them on white poster board
She takes her favorite, scans it into her computer
Her grandmother and herself
Both laughing at some long forgotten joke
She makes a copy for herself
Frames it, and puts it in her bag
At the funeral home, she places the poster board on the easel
A child with emerald eyes pulls at her dress
The daughter of her daughter
She picks her up, holds her close
The casket is waiting for her
Tears fall silently as she walks forward
She places the photograph inside
And kisses her grandma goodbye
