The Cake Stand

As someone who loves story and loves history, I have always found family history fascinating.  Hearing the personal stories of the people we know who have lived longer than us is a powerful window into the time of history that they lived through, as well as a glimpse into what has shaped and influenced them throughout their lives.

But sometimes we don't think to ask, or it seems awkward or nosy.  And sometimes there are stories they won't tell, or can't tell.

I've been thinking lately about the loss of those untold stories, and have been wanting to express that sadness.  With the recent passing of my Grandma, I thought that this would be an appropriate time.

The symbol I use to represent the stories of those who have passed is a cake stand.  My Grandma's father ran a store in Victoria, known as "Pop Palmer's".  I've always wished I could go back in time and see what it was like in that store.  I know that there are still people living who could tell me more about it, but the only real connection I've had to that old store is a cake stand that my parents have that used to be in the display window of my Great-Grandpa's store.  For me that cake stand represents a past that is slowly slipping away, even out of memory.  A bittersweet reminder of the stories that are being lost.


The Cake Stand

I stand before the corner store
The sign is faded above the door
Weathered paint chips and fades
Once bright colours now grown dim.

I pull my sweater tight
Cold wind tugs at my hair
Leaves blow by in the deserted street
The year is spent and tired.

Inside glowing light beckons
The door refuses my hand's advance
Time is a lock that cannot be undone
I know I cannot enter.

I squint and peer through the frosted glass
Seeking a glimpse of what I will never know
There in the window display
I see a cake stand.

Beyond, my vision fades and blurs
Shadows of barrels and shelves
Milling figures examine the wares
Children stand on tiptoe to reach penny candy.

Bells chime as customers enter
Muffled voices carry laughter and gossip
The smell of tea and spices floats on the air
My mind explores what may have been.

The vision fades from my eyes
Replaced by creaking boards rattling in the wind
One more longing glance through the window
Before I turn to go

I see a cake stand.