Gramma's Ribbon Box

Tucked in a plaid box, high on a shelf

The Collection of Ribbons, a December time to myself.

First light the fire -then lift the cover once a year

Beckoning Christmases from the past to draw near.

Inside I behold coils, loops, and bows

Arranged by layers in messy rows.

Satins and sparkles, the 70's metallics draw attention

Chintz, polyester, plaids- almost too many to mention.

Whole yards gathered together once wrapped a mammoth package

Carefully loosened, saved, then tucked away without damage

Bows once perky, created by trembling fingers

Are the things now on which my memory lingers.

Once bought at Woolworths, Murphy's, or Kmart

Were once perched on gifts that came from the heart.

Each of us had our color (mine was cobalt blue)

We knew at a glance which gift was for who

By turn we'd each shake, rattle, guess, hope and

All too quick it seemed our gifts would be opened.

The Littles would play amidst the paper tempest

Adults would start thinking of coffee and breakfast

Gramps checked the piles for any gifts neglected

While Gramma commenced the routine she'd perfected.

From the floor, by the tree, on chairs, among pillows

She'd retrieve the ribbons discarded by excited kiddos.

Through her fingers she'd pull then carefully smooth

As snarls and twists were patiently soothed.

Waste not, want not; through each papery drift

Each ribbon rescued to reappear on next year's gift.

With each cousin added, every new baby born-

Their unique color revealed on their first Christmas morn.

Perhaps to some a small thing, to have your own hue

Looking forward each year to gifts donned with ribbons of blue.

For me this plaid box is a reminder of joys

That my quiet Gramma produced through the noise

Of Santa, church, carols, reindeer, cookies of the season

She saw us as unique, she loved without reason.

This box holds my memories of those days long ago

When I hold it I hold them, in the Yule log's warm glow.