My Grandma Rocks the Cradle and Rules the World

For All Africa Grandmothers

By Ellen Dunbar

 The sweet breeze fans

The savory aroma

of Grandma’s pepper soup,

Hot and boiling

In the heavy, blackened kettle.

With the familiar smell of smoke

Piercing my nostrils

And the drone of her soothing voice,

I can tell

That home is really

Where the heart is.

I sit on the mat,

My head on her soft lap

As she braids my hair.

Grandma tells me

Of days gone by,

Of chaste maidens

And strong brave men;

Of valor, love, honor

And riches untold.

Her sagas peppered now and then

With unctuous chieftains and perfidious wives

No other odyssey or quest

Can rival that of Grandma’s

Yester years and now.

The letters of her name,

She’ll never read,

Even if written bold and big

Across the sky,

But a reader of minds

This strong, Kpelle woman is,

And everyone will agree

That my grandma

Is queen of the countryside.

For many have suckled

At her breast

And at her fire hearth

The village has fed.

Countless navel strings

Buried in her backyard,

My Grandma’s palava hut

Is like a  village square

Where many gather

In search of justice, consolation

Advice or blessings.

Veteran Midwife, Mother Confessor,

Judge, Babysitter,Spiritual Advisor

My grandma’s hands rock the cradle

And rule the world

From her hammock in the thatched hut.

A Reflective Poem

                              By Ellen Dunbar

The sun and sea meet

In tight embrace

And kiss the day good bye

For night is near.

The golden ball of fire

Resting at dusk

upon the shoulder

of the shiny ocean

Shows that fire and water

Do interlace

But only in reflection.

For the glowing sun

Will soon be gone

Swallowed into the evening

By the deep, blue sea.

Oh deep, calm sea,

With undercurrents unseen,
Must I vainly wrestle,

Or accept the end?

The soothing, rocking motion

Of the waves

And dancing reflection

On your surface

Draw me to you.

The warm, gentle breeze

Lull me to sleep

And in my mesmeric state

I forget

That time and tide

Wait for no one.

I'm strong but small

And not as profound.

Your tidal pull

Unyielding, unrestrained

May cause me to drown.

Remembering You

For everyone who was ever an African teenager

                               By Ellen Dunbar

From the earliest days of our youth,
When we fetched water on our heads,
To when I watched you make your first rubber sling,
I have loved you.
Your memory has never left me
Though I am so far away,
For how could I forget when you got drunk with stolen palm wine
And put your arms around my waist?
Or the times I caught you looking
when in my early teens I learned to sway my hips?
Seems like it was only yesterday
When I first experienced young love
As you held me in your arms and said you'd never leave me.
How well I remember your funny stories
Told as we sat around the fire hearth at night.
I long for the lazy days
Of lying on the grass under the moonlight,
Just me and you, two young souls,
Our hearts pure, dreaming
Of nothing but the best
That life had to offer.