Time to gather and sort a lifetime,
Grandma’s receipts, a century old, lay
among dance cards and Christmas greetings.
Embroidered pillowslips rest
under dainty hankies, wool socks,
bone hairpins. A simple wedding band
hides among her flour-sack aprons.
I reach for her sewing box,
find a brown button from her winter coat
among needles and thimbles.
Nestled at the bottom is a yellowed photograph.
Who is the man with owning arms
around Grandma’s waist?
Dark curly hair droops across his forehead,
as he pulls her against him.
She’s smiling, hands rest upon his
as they lean against his car.
In our photo albums, she never smiles
beside my Grandpa.
I almost miss the yellowed envelope
nestled in Grandma’s Bible.
I unfold Mama’s birth certificate
and the obituary of an unknown man from Ireland.
Patricia Frolander tries to balance family, ranching and writing and have a passion for each of them. Her husband Robert and she own his fifth generation ranch in the Black Hills of Wyoming. They are blessed with three children, seven grandchildren and two great-grandchildren, all whom live close to the ranch. She says, "Managing family, ranching, or writing is like trying to rope the wind. In Wyoming, the wind is either bringing a storm or ushering sunshine. I love the changes, although as I age, moderate weather is appreciated."