Who were you, Gramma Garlets

Before the photographs were packed away

Stored for safe keeping in a banker box

Which smells as old as what it holds

When I lift to lid, to wonder?

What stories would you tell me

If you were here with me

Instead of these leftovers

Papers and folios and snapshots

Of you holding babies I can’t identify

Your portrait tucked at the bottom of the stack

Before my grandfather, and the First World War?

What did you wear on an ordinary day

And did you spend your time wondering

About your own grandmother, 5 generations back

Who would have been painted, had she sat for a portrait

Rather than have her likeness captured on paper

By light?

This is all I have left of you

These photos and this question,

Who were you, Gramma Garlets?