“Did you make good time?” I remember this question every time we arrived at Granny’s house on E. Montclair or at Uncle Allen’s farm on Augusta Road or coming up the steps at Ninovan to see Mama Lil and Pop outside of Ware Shoals. The trek from Orangeburg always took around two and a half […]
Leavings everywhere – leftover ham in the fridge, Chex mix scattered about, crumpled red and green wrapping, a gift forgotten, someone’s sunglasses, chairs rearranged – fragments and remnants strewn across the room expressing the family Christmas party ended moments before. Only earlier everyone tiptoed around the dross with the same summoned decorum they tiptoed around
(Note to reader: Following is a Christmas meditation punctuated by verses from the original salvation song, Michael Row the Boat Ashore, as sung by Gullah people on St. Helena Island and written in Gullah dialect. The popular version you know has been rewritten for other means from the original Gullah song.) Low, grunting bellows from
Something was wrong. My otherwise un-intruded childhood witnessed my dark-colored friend, Daniel, mistreated. The uneasiness covered me like a cloud sliding underneath the sun, suppressing its light, his and mine, too. The memory cuts through me, washing date and time away but leaving in its wake scattered and formless emotions that drift through every subconscious
