When I was young, I never imagined that memories would fill me as full as the years.
And even though we cannot take another one of these deaths, these murders, they keep on coming. And we keep saying we can not. And we do. And it's all more than too much.
write a poem in the form of a news article you wish would come out tomorrow.
Old woman survives the night once again and writes 14th poem!
How did you know I was in love? We were at the supper table. you looked at me and said "That girl is in love." Mommy acted like she didn't hear. Later that summer my other grandmother said the same thing.I was, but how did youknow?
I was in the plane,flying back from Santa Barbara and missed Rapp Brown shouting revo- lution from the theater roof. Now nothing there but bare ground. The whole block gone.
Gwen - a table for the basement five feet by three feet, folding legs. In an old basement storeroom, Poppy had a workshop. It had a workbench, a tool chest, and a bin full of small pieces of wood we used to make dollhouse furniture and little boats. It smelled of wood and machine oil and Pinesol. Daisy - a set of shelves for attic stairway five feet tall, twelve inches wide. Outside of the workshop in the main basement was a long workbench. There were short pieces of wood stored underneath. Against the wall were longer pieces. Mother – one bookcase for house any size. Poppy made furniture sometimes. Not fine pieces but basic, useful pieces, a rocking chair that sat in the upstairs hall where it was used to rock fussy babies and sick children when my mother was growing up. One bulletin board for Church – two and a half feet long and two feet ten inches wide. Glass front brown board, back clear glass twenty six and a half times thirty and seven eighths. He made a small table that sat on the landing for the telephone. The phone had a long cord to reach upstairs at night and downstairs during the day. Lottie Brandon – one porch flower box. Poppy built flower boxes for his back porch and the back yard as well as for his daughter’s porch. I wish I could see him coming up the walk to repair things, carrying his toolbox, like a doctor coming to see a patient.
I plodded on for years fighting to get my husband Phillip's pension. His siblings stole his muster pay before I knew what it was. Our two children died babies in slavery. When Sherman's troops came through, Phillip left to join the army. I waited to hear from him. The white folks had locked up my few clothes. I managed to get them and I left. Working for myself for the first time. I sewed. One day my brother saw me in town. He told me my husband was near there. I went to the camp and stayed with him. Then they took him away from me with smallpox. He died in the hospital alone. I went back out on my own, sewing. I met a man who promised to marry me. I had two children with him. Then he married another woman. I sewed until my eyes gave out. The rooms were so dark. Then I took in laundry. I had my own place where I worked and took care of my children. I heard that I was owed a pension. A lawyer took my case and didn't give up until I got my pension. With back pay, it was $3,500. I bought a better house and my children went to school. Then, a year later, I caught pneumonia and died. I didn't mind for me, but the children. I would have liked to have lived for them. Now my dust lies under these trees, the dry leaves blowing down. Where my children lie, I do not know.
I see I will get a postcard from you today. Your father is planning to go to the market, but I will still need eight sausages whenever you go to the butcher shop.
Found poem from an email December 13, 2017.
Chili from the freezer. Prepared in advance. Just in case. I could feel it moving through my Arm, she said. Really. Not too many cars ahead. We wait. The sun is hot. Not emotional this time. Just so tired.