My great aunt Ginny (Coonrod) was a special kind of lady in her day in northern Texas. She ignored the rules of gender and chose to use her talent for business as the mainstay in her life, rather than marriage. She got my dad his first job and prospered, but unfortunately died young. When my father died I inherited the fine glassware Ginny had left him. I do indeed have a China cabinet which fills with winter light and Ginny's glassware really does glow in it!
Published Prairie Poetry, copyright J. Donald Coonrod.

She left behind a business—
remains of a mind ahead
of its time, and she had
the most delicate crystal
you could ever find.

The only girl in her family—
father, part Indian dark
haired gunslinger in the
non-civil War;
she turned out blond,
her mother’s McRoberts’
stem, and fancied running
her own business, no man
good enough to sleep
on her side of the door.

Creature of the future,
a woman who ran
a store and liked fine
things, silver and crystal
and clean white cotton
sheets, alone at night.

She died young, unmarried,
and left behind stemware
delicately marked, virginal,
almost untouched; a single
tap rings like bells of St.
Peter’s at the death of a
pope.

Great aunt Ginny, generations
ahead of her time, lives on
when a glorious glint of
sunset slips unnoticed into
my cabinet, and then, oh,
how her crystal shines and
shines.