“
Now reading
Big Anna
three poems
BIG ANNA
Big Anna died yesterday in Baltimore.
A big woman, black and dead,
and buried with her a mighty chuckle,
rotting as she rots a tremendous smiling white-toothed good will,
a spirit that laughed at taunts,
prayed to the good Lord when cruelly hurt,
got up from a bed of misery and did the work that had to
be done |
with scurfy black hands . . . did white folks' work .. .
dusted the furniture and ran the vacuum over opulent rugs,
minded the imp after school . . . "Boy, I'm gonna tan you
good!" .
laughing inside, though . . . "The little white devil! Bad kid!
Bless his heart!"
Sweating in the kitchen, smelling into pots and hissing pans,
smelling herself a bit... . a smell of hard, hard work...
work never done,
not on this earth,
never on this earth done . . . Six a.m. to six p.m. work...
"Lawd, my dogs is tired. Oh God, I ache!"
Thin galoshes on a street corner in harsh slush,
winds of winter razoring through madam's old coat...
"Lordy, I like to freeze waitin' for that ol' trolley . . .
and then . . . they wouldn't let me on . . . didn't stop...
crowded.
Pshaw! Wasn't crowded no such a thing!
That white man didn't want to stop . . . Lordy, I like to freeze!"
Six a.m. to six p.m. ...
Spring ("I like spring. Ol' bones thaw out!")
Summer ("I got a pow'ful headache! 100 in the shade, I
swear!")
Autumn ("Yessum, I feel lots better now.")
Winter ("God, help me get out of bed at six. It's so cold,
cold, cold!")
Six a.m to six p.m... .
Monday ("Madam had a pow'ful big wash today!")
Tuesday ("That ol' bill collector here again. Oh God, where
I gonna get the money?")
Wednesday ("Child, call up the madam tell her my back's
killin' me.")
Thursday ("Yessum, I'll mind him tonight. Me and him gets
along!")
Friday (("Honey, we ain't got much supper tonight,")
Saturday ("Child, come back here! I ain't scrubbed your
ears yet!")
Sunday ("Rev'ren, you done tol' us today. Yes, Lord!")
Six a.m. to six p.m.... years...
"There'll come a day, child. There's a better life comin'!"
Only a few folks stood over her grave.
Taps? ... Only the old hymn, cracked out by voices small,
unheard . . . "On a hill far away . . . Stood an old rugged
cross . . .
Shuffing of old tired feet on a path leading away,
far away as the hill...
Big Anna alone now. Big black Anna cold, still and under.
"Come back home have a cuppa tea, honey.
Ain't nothin' we can do for big Anna now."