Written by Hira Green
Granny Tave, we laid you down to rest.
I was too young to understand,
not too young to fear.
Madea, were you warm in springtime
as we
laid our blankets down to picnic
at your sun-soaked grave?
Mothers upon daughters lay beside
you and all the slaves that came
before.
Crumbling headstones fell.
Time passed and we soon forgot the place.
Memories of you persisted and
our hearts became your tomb.
Artificial flowers faded.
I came home one humid summer day.
I drove down grassy country roads
to find a gate put up.
And now I can’t see you
even if I wanted to.
Text © Hira Green
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so sad! and well written