My grandmother’s birthday was December 8, 1918. She passed away in 2007 from the complications of a brain aneurysm. Grandma Christine was an extraordinary cook and she was known in the community for baking cakes and pies. Before she had my mother she moved north to work in New York and Connecticut for wealthy white families. She was responsible for coordinating and cooking meals. As our family story goes, my grandfather Leroy Clark was from Alabama and joined the U.S. Army. He met my grandmother in New York while on leave. After he left the Army he joined my grandmother in Connecticut and was hired to work the grounds. They traveled as a couple and worked in mansions. Then my mother was born, then two more babies. After the third baby they were replaced and moved back down south to the 100 acre family farm in Huntersville, NC where they raised their growing family.
Grandma Christine
Gritty as blackberry seeds in my teeth.
we cooked, we laughed, we cried
Her spirit, spicy and sweet.
Her skin dark as ebony wood, bigotry felt.
Creamed corn, fresh tomatoes and fried okra
Grits, greens, beans and ham
Peach cobbler and blackberry pie, my favorites
Hiding the strain of labor in wrinkled hands,
Her limbs contained subtle strength and tenderness.
Her tongue could chop wood with precision,
be warned--
Yet, a stroke couldn’t seize grandma’s elephant mind,
Loving her effortlessly, I don’t want to part
Missed conversations, like the warmth of spring in winter
Her laughter still echoes
through my own voice.