Miss Sopa
.
Sopa Abraham Botswana Jonson
b. 1907
She knows the best clay to eat
is through woods by the shore.
.
Slick on her tongue, blue-gray,
smooth, it rumbles like thunder
between her time tough teeth.
.
She names the wild horses
that eat grass by her shack–
loves them like her people
who are all dead now.
.
She’s the last one left
on Grandmother Island,
the last one to smell sweet
magnolia rotting on the path.
.
The last one to weave baskets,
laugh, tell ghost stories, scrub
her clothes on a washboard.
.
She feels the spirits of kin
sway in mossy live oaks.
.
But her eyes are too old
to see bright lights grow
on the deep pink horizon.
.
She does not know the high
market price of her heritage.
.
She cannot hear real estate
snakes slither on the edges
of her quiet island, waiting.
.
Julie Buffaloe-Yoder
.
Miss Sopa was originally published in Plain Spoke
.
For another Miss Sopa poem, click HERE.
.
To read some background about the great lady who inspired Miss Sopa, click HERE.
.
