A few years ago now, before she passed, I received one of my Aunt Jo Anne Knight’s books, a 1952 edition of the complete works of Shakespeare. Looking at it, I noticed a leaf of green notebook paper, which, at first, I figured would be some of my aunt’s notes for her English classes she taught. Before unfolding it, at least, I thought it would be something Shakespeare-related, a summary of what to cover for a class session. Opening it up, however, I discovered, that it was a poem Momma had written, dated January 25, 1971, when she was seventeen, turning eighteen that coming May. Just months before, Margaret Scarborough Chandler, her mother and my grandmother, died from complications related to scleroderma on October 17, 1970, at forty-nine. Having found such a treasure, I read Momma’s poem to her, and I said that I loved it and wished she would do more writing. Her response was that she wanted me to do the writing for us.
Here is Momma’s poem that I love:
In the woods, I found her sitting,
beneath a tree, singing softly.
She looked up and began to run,
faster, faster, until she was gone.
I sat down and began to cry.
“Come back. Please. Come back.”
Out of nowhere, she came and questioned,
“Why? Why do you cry?”
“I wanted to listen to your song,
to speak to you.”
She sat down beside me
and began to sing sweetly.
She comforted me and gave to me
a feeling I had never known.
I asked her who she was
and why she was here.
I am a part of man, a feeling
that man has thrown away,
and I must run forever.
She left and began to run,
faster, faster, until she was gone.
I called her by the name—
I knew so little.
PEACE,
Vickie Chandler
January 25, 1971