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America Watts
1851-1934

Mister White buried me here beside Greek George,
Back here, with the wind-tossed weeds and the walnuts.
“Hey George, you old camel driver, you.
Can you hear me over there?
I can relate to your dogged controlling ways.”
With invisible trace chains attached to my pigtails,
Mister Watts for 39 years was my master and tormentor;
Five times in our marriage I felt the bloody pangs,
Of his beaded belt, and bare knuckles.
Five times I fled from his house a frighted,
Wondering if I would wake up the next morning alive.
“Hey George, you old camel driver, you,
Can you hear me over there?
I was no beast of burden to beat,
Nor was I his old blanket to hang on the line.”
When a possible sixth time erupted in 1891,
I ran to the tool shed next to the privy,
Out back, there, with the lilacs and the bleating ewes.
And I desperately grabbed his bladed axe.
“No Mister Watts! You will not beat me today!”
I screamed, as nearby neighbors looked on.
“No Mister Watts! Never again will I accept this!”
Looking back on that moment, here in my grave,
I believe Mister Watts was waiting for me to at last resist him.
No more after that was I his silent patsy.
No more was I his old, used-up mare,
His old brow-beaten girl, with ticks, gadfly bites,
And a thousand silent complaints.
“Hey George, you old camel driver, you.
Can you hear me over there?
Truth be known, I stood up to my only love in life.”
I finally decided to make a stand against him,
The one who fed, clothed and provided a roof over my head.
And he stopped. He stopped!
Thank the Lord, he stopped beating me!
And here I am, after 83 years of toil, hardship and pain,
Buried happily, way back here,
With the wind-tossed-weeds and the walnuts.

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