Treasures
(or an Ode to ADA)
by Paula Roberts

My grandmothers hope chest was full of treasures,
though not of the sort that scalawags covet.
A lifetime assortment of dry goods were there,
fine woolens, silks and linens to spare.

She stored her patterns from all the good makers,
and beautiful catalogues dating back years,
the tools of a tailor laid out to behold,
and a bevy of thimbles, tin, silver and gold.

Nestled in packets refolded like new
were scores of needles machined for their use,
one curved for a pillow, one shaped like a nettle,
some for the Singer she drove with a treadle.

Plaids and checks, stripes and prints
textures as varied as stars in the sky.
Wonder resided in swatches of hues
purples, reds, yellows, neutrals and blues.

Beside the trunk in a chest of small drawers
hundreds of buttons and snaps and hooks
shared space with the spools of strong cotton thread
that Grandmother used for the quilts on the bed.

Her craft was perfected through patience and grace,
her tools the reminder of a life of hard work.
And though she commanded a pittance for pay
she knew to thank God at the end of the day.

Both she and the treasures have passed from my life
but I’ll not forget the hours that I spent
struggling to mimic her dressmaker’s skill.
…Sometimes I feel her watching me still.


c1997, Paula Roberts