Mom has been dead for thirty-one years. I think of her and hear her voice almost every day. I wish I could talk with her and tell her that I am sorry for all the times she cooked and I grumbled about fried taters, field peas, and corn bread. Bless her hear that was the best she could do at times. At other times we had only brown gravy and biscuits. What I would give to eat momma's fried taters, brown gravy, peas, cornbread, and biscuits. I would love to spend Mother's Day with her. I promised her that I would put flowers on her grave and I do. Her birthday is close to Mother's Day and I will place flowers there and I dedicate this poem to her.
“ODE TO ROE”
There
she sits with a peach in one hand and a paring knife in the other,
looking
up with peach juice dripping off her elbows and yelling stop hurting your
brother.
She
is singing and smiling clothed in a cotton dress covered with tiny flowers, her
hair pulled back and washing clothes, cleaning house, and canning peaches for
hours.
This
picture is one of many whirling in my head,
realizing
that there are many moments not caught on film or picture now that she is dead.
Of
all the scenes of my memory it is the one in the cotton dress that comes to me,
a
great provider, a great comforter, and a great leader, my momma Roe Leecie.
She
hated that name Roe and would get aggravated and mad when we would call her
Roe,
but
today that name is a precious name and I miss her and I want the whole world to
know.
There’s
the picture of us in the cotton field and her grabbing me and running in fear,
while
picking cotton, a violent thunderstorm with lightning was popping very near.
No
more than age three she held my hand and we ran to cover from the lightning and
rain,
I
still see her scared, trembling in fear and on her face the sight of great
pain.
There’s
the picture of her on the 8-N Ford tractor plowing the ground,
not
looking as a farmer girl, but a queen on her throne wearing a golden crown.
She as a tomboy, who could play very rough,
making
us holler “calf rope” when we had enough.
She
was tall and lean, her daddy’s other boy on the farm,
but
she was very much a lady and had a smile that worked like a charm.
She
was a picture of beauty when she stood by daddy’s side,
so
pretty and happy, but nothing compared to the beauty inside.
In
my mind there’s the picture of her holding us tight,
when
the fever made us see the boogie man and we were filled with fright.
Standing
in the kitchen is where she worked and slaved the most,
fixing
fried taters, fresh field peas, cornbread, and on Sunday’s that delicious pork
roast.
There’s
the smell of fresh biscuits, chicken and dressing, and homemade pies,
a
yard full of boys and cousins when feeding them joy filled her eyes.
There’s
the picture of her working late into the night mopping and waxing the floors,
letting
us kids shine it by sliding on rags back and forth and through the doors.
Oh,
the picture at age six of us in the old toilet with no top and us looking at a
plane in the sky,
me
asking her if they could see us using the restroom and her telling me no they
were too high.
She
had an eye that was better than a carpenter’s level,
and
she made daddy so mad when building the house he thought he was dealing with
the devil.
She
labored in love while daddy was sick and confined to a bed,
Telling
him she loved him and she was sorry for all the bad things she had said.
There’s
the picture of her trying to get up and wash her hair,
but
the pain of the melanoma was more than she could bear.
When
she had only days to live she wanted to know the truth, how long she had,
when
I told her there was no hope, that’s a picture of her that’s very sad.
Forever
etched in my mind is the night I spent with her in the hospital and listed to
her yell,
everyone
on her floor was dying and their moans and cries were a picture of hell.
There’re
many pictures that I could share with you about the one named Roe,
many
of you would not believe them even if I told you so.
She
is there in my mind in that cotton dress all covered with tiny flowers,
praying
for all of her family to become Christians filled with God’s power.
Her
last words were that she wanted Christian kids, never to be rich or famous and
have stuff,
having
children who were Sunday school teachers, deacons, and a pastor were enough.
That’s
all she wanted in the world and I thought you would want to know,
that’s
not bad for a momma named Roe.
