A Lilac Vintage Poem - LetterPile - Writing and Literature
Updated date:

A Lilac Vintage Poem

Linda J. Wolff, is a Pacific Northwest writer, poet and the editor of Wolff Poetry, a go-to literary journal.

Old Vintage Pieces Tell Stories

Old pieces tell stories.

Old pieces tell stories.

Pieces of Time.

A bicycle, a suitcase, a chair.

On the chair, an old suitcase, outside the antique shop.

A story.

It is a story that refuses to be hidden in the pages of time, like a memory that refuses to be forgotten.

Saturday's are perfect for buying someone's heritage.

A bicycle speaks volumes, a ray of feminism. My eyes scan the old words on the basket. I am intrigued; as it shares many voices of yesterday.

I wonder who she was the lovely lady who rode it.

The places those bicycle tires went are invisible, only time could really weave a tale, the faintest literature. My story begins on the seat.

The cracks of time stretched in many directions.

Time and vintage.

History.

The Suitcase of Treasures.

At times throughout our lives, we're able to gather all the pieces, a suitcase reveals more.

A picture of a couple. I wonder if it is her.

Dried lilac, a set of pearls.

There's more to this suitcase. About the ghosts that are hidden in the silk lining. Almost nostalgic.

The emptiness...knowing volumes once filled it to the brim. As if it spills stories I do not know, enchanting times and places I've never seen.

Romantic Times. I close my eyes to envision, an old fishing pier, a cool night in September, cool enough to bite skin, and he takes his jacket and puts it over her shoulders so gently.

Laughter rings out into the empty fog filling it with the euphoria of love.

Hand intwined in hand. I smile.

Another story.

The Floral Chair.

The floral print chair spoke to me. I knew a place in my home where I could arrange it, as a piece of decor. I love vintage pieces.

The floral print grabbed me. I moved the suitcase to the concrete sidewalk by my feet.

A tattered paper fell to the concrete sidewalk.

The edges frayed, the letter folded.

I open it gently. Tears filled my eyelids as I read it.

Will, you still love me after all these years?
After the skin has lost its beauty, and will our
Tender memories remain when hands are frail,
Enthusiasm and devotion, a sea of love in
Realism, admiration, of long-lasting affection.

Will you darling? Love Daphne.

A single poem cracks the echoes of time, a faint memory.

My tears mingle with history.


© 2018 Linda J Wolff