|My Great-Granny, Grandmother, and the four oldest|
girls in the family...my mom is the littlest one trying
to hide behind her sister.
I come from a line
Of strong mountain women,
Rugged as the terrain they called home.
Great-Granny and her life steeped in grief,
Burying babies and a husband taken by typhoid,
Looking so tiny and frail
But tough enough to carry on.
And then Grandma,
Difficult times made more desperate
When abandoned to raise six children alone.
They wasted no energy on complaints and blame;
Understanding the immensity of their burdens,
Driven by necessity and fierce love.
As years have passed,
More generations of daughters
Have scattered across the country,
Feet planted on the rolling prairie,
In the blazing Texas heat,
Under endless Colorado skies,
With burdens of their own to bear
But with the same fierce love of family,
A part of their hearts
Still rooted back in West Virginia,
Still channeling the strength
Of those mountain women.
~~~~ This poem was written in response to a challenge from Imaginary Garden with Real Toads asking us to give voice to an ancestor. With as long past as that particular challenge is, I've linked it with their Open Link Monday.