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Grandmas Portrait
There was a noble sadness hiding in her eyes. She wears a smile, though elements of insecurities Trembled in its corners... Dignity and suffering, combating for the control of her expression. Hiding the battle scars of her life; Intending to leave one good portrait for her remembrance. Alas! she has conquered the moment In a photo: “She struck a pose”; Mustered up a mighty gathering of her dignity and composure; Stayed frozen in her poise until the camera’s shutter captured her contrived deportment. Now her hardened gaze softly peered from that photograph; Speaking to the generations “I am your great ancestor”. Captured in her face was every cloak she’d worn. Recorded in detail were the disappointments of her Nuptial disillusions, and the slippery delights, that slid from her hands, into the arms of despair. Solid hopes, that melted from the heat of fate’s unstable outcomes. Her accomplishments seemed but trivial, compared to the struggle of her overcoming them. The loss of her child- or children; Locked grief deep within her eyes:! Her future grandchildren finger gingerly over their Grandma’s photo. Trying to extract a sense of her being as if they could touch her. This woman in this photo was our beginning, A Photo which has divulged much; Scribbled on the back, “use this one for my obituary”. We examine closer, as her life and love shone through the faded photo. To my future generation, I ask… “read my words; My life is in there.” “Draw new conclusions from my conclusions, for these times are not my times.” She wanted not to leave sadness and pity as her legacy. All of her friends and husbands were no more.! Despite her attempt in this photo to evoke a positive reaction; We sensed that her life was not easy, her devout and pious ways seemed of no good purpose. She, at a point, abandoned the realms of religious rules… For it seemed “freedom and security” Would come only by the Seeking of her own noble tenure. From “no- way” she made “a -way”, in music, through poetry, or designing things – working, hustling, and fighting tirelessly against the system of; Classism, Racism, and the unjust political system. We will leave her secrets, secret… As to how she untied herself, from the serf mentality - or slave chains. Artist, Cooks’, merchants, and musician’s statuses rose: Mud cloth, and dyed fabric, beads, and instruments: Knowledge of Hair, herbs, mushrooms, and clothes. We shall rejoice in her fortitude; We will find what made her laugh. We shall love her in whatever shame she bore the burden of: We see her insecurities’ and her pride in her pictures; Despite hidden tears; Somehow we knew what made her cry”. We could see fear crouching in the wrinkles of her forehead, in her smile, and in her eyes. The toll of the uncertain tough times, the colored sections and the wars. All of the injustices she braved’ The hangings; Mostly, the constant hoovering of gloom and her vulnerability. As decided, she was to leave us this portrait, to portray her living; She’d being labeled as a laborer A mere peasant, According to the measurements by some of the wealth Yet, she wore the crown of an Empress; and all who spoke of her said: She transformed them by her attributes and transferred her good qualities to all that she met. Whether they loved her or despised her, she left them affected by her grace and the wonderment of her being. Always leaving pieces of her positive traits. Secrets were revealed to those whom she loved. Secrets encoded even now: Well-springs welled from her royal Wealth; Flowed into her off-springs blood ... From her gene pool of brilliance; Came wisdom, beauty, and love. According to man’s system, Not God’s She was deemed impoverished, and of third class status. Yet she mesmerized and left folks enchanted. Amazingly this woman who had not Plenty. When asked why she cared and shared so much… She’d answer: “it is a blessing, to give a lot of your little bit.” Rather than to give “A little bit of your whole-lot”. Her Eulogy speaks: “Blessed is all that has been made privy to her encounter. She was esteemed by the poor and the rich alike. We shall read her poetry; We shall draw from her strength. And pray to have her aptitude, her attitude, But most of all, perseverance and faith …as she has willed”. Ase’
Copyright © 2024 Vicki Acquah. All Rights Reserved

Book: Shattered Sighs