Ghosts of Old Fears

A lined face reflects hard times,
the journey of a life.
Roads taken from despair
weary loads, no pillow in sight.

A rainbow silk rag binds her head,
barter with a gypsy queen.
Her glorious hair, a long braid,
combed silk, at night's soft end.

First son, born at tender twelve,
blood poured on the earth under cotton.
Her man, miles away, slave to a coal mine,
dangerous, more pay, less working time.

A burden and joy each year,
strapped to her back.
Hurting and bowed, she'd pick.
Babies grew, learned cotton quick.

If children pulled bolls fast,
boss man kept them.
Money for him, gifts in her bed.
Her heart rose to touch damp heads.

Oh, only the Lord knew her pain
if on the auction block they came.
Then her old man died,
ripped and torn from Master's snake.

Beauty vanishes with time,
transcends a body broken from hate.
There is a tenderness years bring,
despite cruelty, comes grace and faith.

The past never rests
it cracks, bruises human flesh.
Lives on in inheritance,
ghosts of old fears and joyfulness.



By Kathie Stehr
Edited December 26, 2011