When they were children, Minnie and her brother and sisters spent many happy days in their Grandmother’s house on Carleton Street. Years later, Minnie wrote about one of her memories from that time.

Her Closet

Her closet smells like perfume and powder.

We huddle between coats and dresses, my sister and I.

One coat’s collar is made from a seal and

We bury our small fingers in the butter soft fur.

Pumps, high heels, tennis shoes, slippers,

Green, brown, black, white, red, and tan, stand in neat rows

On the carpeted floor, under hanging clothes.

Purses, sweaters, and hats stack up high to the ceiling.

Our voices are muffled in the long narrow space.

Daylight filters between two walls of coats, skirts, blouses and dresses.

I brush through them to reach the small window in the far wall where

I can see far over her neighbor’s roof to other roofs.

Our days are long and quiet on Carleton Street.

We sit in her closet, off and on, as we

wait for her to come home from work, or

until Grandma Mae calls us to supper.