Blue Velvet Ribbons by Joan Currie

I came across
my old summer camp trunk
in the attic.

Inside were thick folders,
tied with sky-blue velvet ribbons.

I knew what lay within:

pencil crayon drawings
of my blond cocker spaniel,
seagulls at the beach,
ducks on the pond,
and my younger brother
in his Mountie costume.

But my favorites
were the paper doll fashions–

wedding gowns
painted in soft watercolor,
headdresses
with sunbursts and roses,
crowns and tiaras,
and Della Robbia wreaths
laden with flowers and fruit.

I made them
on rainy Sunday afternoons.

They were shown
to no one.

I wasn’t waiting
for praise or advice.

The making
was enough.

Each dress
belonged to an imagined life
I carried quietly,
as tenderly
as a child carries
a small secret.

Years later
I showed them
to my daughters.

Already,
they were better artists
than I had ever been.

They smiled,
admired them,
but declined
to add another dress
to the collection.

Perhaps,
one day,
a grandchild
will untie
the blue ribbons,

lift out the folders,

and begin again.