One life of hard work and blessings; a past that lives on with ghosts.
|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 pulls bolls fast,
boss man keeps them.
Money for him, gifts in her bed.
Calloused hands touch newly born 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,
past cruelty, came grace and faith.
Alas, the past never rests.
Truth bears power, bold and solid.
Lives on in stories told.
Hope burns free, change follows.
By Kathie Stehr