We drove over six hundred miles;
fueled up more on desperation
than gas. Our youngest child,
when learning to walk, tripped
over things they should’ve seen.
It was Leber’s Congenital
Amaurosis, they said. There
was no cure, they said. And so
we drove; hoping the guy we
saw every Saturday night on
TV could possibly help her.
We met Ms. Frances in line; doting
on our little girl with grand affection.
Judging by the size of the crowd,
one would think we were waiting
for a concert. Not for a gathering
of the evangelical leader with the
white suit, olive skin and salt and
pepper hair. When we did get in,
all I remember was that we weren’t
‘chosen.’ Though it wasn’t said, I
instantly knew. Because malady
was one that couldn’t be ‘seen.’
And that revelation has stayed
with me.
Returning home, I started receiving
typed letters with cards from Ms. Francis.
I sent letters with pictures in return.
She, a rarity in the modern age. Preferring
physical letters over email. And so went our
friendship for years, till the day the letters
stopped coming. I still having them when
I left. After a while, I gave them to my
child. So that she may always remember
the lady in Arkansas.
I am From (four)
I am from my vintage dictionary
eleven by eight and a half by
four, shea butter and Ikea spice
jars. I am from the modern, semi-new
dwelling that rests like Heaven upon
the eyes. I am from the snake plant,
the oak tree whose long gone limbs
I remember them as if they were my own.
I’m from sitting around the living room
holding plates on Thanksgiving and
avoidance of tears at all costs. From
Uncle James and Uncle Richard. I’m
from keeping secrets and holding
grudges. And from maintaining
appearances. I’m from ‘this world is
no place for a dreamer’ and ‘you’ll
understand when you’re older’ and
‘You’ll never be too big for me.’
I’m from Friday night get togethers
in the projects. From Chi-Town and
Opelousas. Chitlins and black eyed
peas. From my grandmother leaving
Alabama for Chicago. Boxes of photo
albums spanning decades. Once at
the top of the stairs leading to the
apartment; now only in my memory.