Strength

"Strength: Former Slaves 1861": "The strongest people in the world aren't those most protected; they are the ones that must struggle against adversity and obstacles--and surmount them--to survive." (the poster on my basement wall purchased at the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis, TN--from the Lorraine Hotel)

My mother stares out at me
pensive, black-and-white graduation
photo with a summer's canvas backdrop
no smile, full colored lips (I imagine red)
white dress, broach
hair pulled back, pinned
behind her ears

in this picture she has already
decided to be a teacher, respectable
attend Alabama Teachers' College
in Montgomery, marry a respectable man
Change the world through questions
I wonder what she might have
chosen if she could have dreamed
wild

her photo slightly elevated over the ones

of her parents, her father my PawPaw 
in World War I US Army uniform, 
a .30 calibre G.I.Joe rifle

a service hat with brim and band, the color
lost in the gray of the picture--yellow for calvary
blue for infantry or maybe artillery scarlet red
blanket roll on his back, cateen clasped to his belt
"minimum weight for maximum efficiency"
--the look in his eyes match the graduate's--

he stands beside a clapboard wooden
house, raised on cinder blocks, weeds
peeking from beneath
I imagine snakes and field mice
spiders and ants resting in the grass
I wonder what he might have conquered
if he could don his own warrior's
heart

And her mom, my Gran Gran

dark hat with light band, color unknown
dapper suit with lapel, a dark half broach-half flower
garnish it, high collar white blouse, 
a laced handkerchief in her left hand 
her left arm rests on the back of a wooden bench 
shiny from wear or polish--it's impossible to know--

against the backdrop of a tropical canvas, 
a patent leather purse handle just below

her right hand resting on her lap,

the split in her skirt to the front instead of the side,

her angular Cherokee features more prominent

than her African or English ones, her eyes follow you, 
pierce you through

I wonder what she might have conjured
in her native tongues

My ancestors, still-framed against
the bright wall wear the strength of ancestors
before them, the worn and proud faces
of people who have survived and surmounted
struggles known only from the telling.
I stare at them daily 
or as often as 
I can stand the questions 
they ask 
me.

© Valerie Bridgeman

February 11, 2013
(edited for reading on Feb 16)