Faces from the past
The old photographs are dark.
The young to middle aged people
staring out of them are my grandparents
and great grandparents.
Their faces haunt my sleep, as if they
are telling me something of themselves
that I am not getting.
My mother’s grandmother wearing a
babushka, heavy apron over what was
probably her best skirt, durable black
boots. I know she lived to be
ninety-four years of age in Slovakia.
Her daughter, my grandmother, also lived
to within a few months of that same age.
Grandma was making a new life for herself,
her siblings in this country. The considerable
improvement in quality of life was evident
in her fashionable flapper days dress, which
she made herself, the finery of appearance for
her husband and their children. She was an
impeccable seamstress; did flawless crocheting.
What homage can I do, I wonder as I stare back
at them in their frames on a coffee table.
After sorting through twenty boxes of old stuff from his dad’s home, my cousin Ed shipped me two boxes of photos to share with our cousins. I called Ed to thank him for these treasures, most of which I had never seen before and some of the people in the photos neither of us could identify. I am hoping our one elder cousin may be able to help if I see him at Christmas. I am easily lost in wonder as I take in the details of their dress, the expressions on their faces, and consider all the time that has gone by since they were young.