Wonder how some things survive
So long after their time?
Some, we find, like treasure,
And seek within the lines ...

Clues of life so long ago,
Artifacts of our lives;
Words of wisdom written on
The margin of the lines.

Among my mother’s albums,
There lay a small lined pad;
The kind with brown encasing ~
Like your great grandmother had.

And, there, I found a picture
Of daily life for her;
The way her money came to hand,
The debts she had incurred ...

Notes of no significance
To history or time.
Except, it revealed insight
Into a life of mine.

Charted on some pages were
The notes of music keys;
The flats and sharps, the time
And interpretations of these.

There were recipes for colds,
Sore throat, and a fever ~
The price paid for a cow and calf,
The chicken’s incubator.

I saw the worry in the lines,
When every penny counted.
The years were sometimes one small page,
With Christmas gifts ~ a quarter.

Down through the years, some child
Had drawn with pencil scribbled lines.
And, on a trip, she jotted down,
"A street car ride: one dime!"

I was barely ten years old
When Grandma went away.
I’ll read, again, those precious notes
Of how she spent her days.


Joan Clifton Costner
2003
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