Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MY OTHER MOTHER, by EVA JOOR WILLIAMS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MY OTHER MOTHER, by                    
First Line: When did I know you first? I cannot say
Last Line: "mah lil w'ite chilluns of mah earthly home?"
Subject(s): African Americans - Women; Child Care; Mothers; Baby Sitters; Governesses


When did I know you first? I cannot say.
Back in that farthest room of yesterday
I see that blue check dress, so crackling neat;
That face of glistening black, those watchful eyes
Guarding the w'ite folks' chillun round your feet.

We young ones reverenced you as from the skies;
One solemn headshake quelled our naughty ways;
But when we "acted nice", your smile of praise
Poured from you with the richness of sweet cream.

You live again, a figure in a dream:
It's Saturday; I see you cut a heart,
A moon, a star, from mountains of dark dough;
How avidly we gaze upon your art,
The rolling pin upon the white-floured board;
How tall the heaps of spicy cookies grow!
They seem enough to feed a hungry horde;
And yet they disappear like early snow.
You used to sit and tell us of that day
Befo' de war w'en you wuz peart and gay;
You spoke of marsers and of 'possum nights;
Dem wuz good times. No worry ghostin' round;
No rent, no grocery bill, no clothes to buy;
Dem wuz good times! ... And then, a peaceful sigh;
And then. an earnest, meditative frown:
"Hit's nicer ter be free, enj'yin' rights."

You did "day's work". You lived upon a street
Where fragrant Umbrell'China branches meet.
You'd take us to your home; with fascination
We stared upon the bedroom, starkly clean;
The great four-poster bed -- a very queen
Could rest upon that spread of fine crochet,
Those shams of snowy lace! "But, law'," you'd say,
"Dat baid am jist ter die in!" Common sleep
In such a place would be a desecration!

We saw a ladder stretching to a loft,
A pile of straw, quilt-covered, crumbling soft,
And there you lay, toil-weary, every night;
And there you rose before the morning light
And hurried down to clean with awesome breath
The room that waited, waited for your death.

But many years you lived. The Fever came,
The Yellow Fever which men feared to name;
And neighbors died behind and roundabout;
And armed guards stood at our own gate and said
None but the doctor could go in and out.
We lay, afire and aching, all in bed
But you and our own mother -- you and she
Both heavenly fair as angels e'er could be!
And as you bent above us, our blurred sight
Could hardly tell the black face from the white!

Long, long ago! And we ourselves are old
Who were the children of your loving fold.
I see you now in that white, Holy Place,
Your calico transfigured, and your face
Among the shining ones who walk in gold.
And while you help the cherubs to more cheer,
And ease the burdens of the angels near,
I hear you whisper, "W'en ... w'en will dey come,
Mah lil w'ite chilluns of mah earthly home?"





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