White ivory snakes through tipu timber,
deep rosewood grain glossed in sable,
my grandfather's initials etched in the surface - CRM;
Thick fingers pressed against a letter opener,
his only calm amongst a clutter of
tax forms and tape dispensers,
staples and sticky notes,
model fire engines, mechanical pencils,
glasses that hung on his sagging ears
in place of a helmet's soot soaked shield.
His face singed in the heat of burning buildings,
hands charred, pulling at ashen bodies.
He could have been a hero in the massacre,
but not my grandfather, not an old bigot like him.
All he left to me, his ivory inlaid desk,
is a rosewood reminder of them.
Ashley Maser is currently studying English and Creative Writing as a sophomore at Longwood University in Farmville, Virginia. She interns for the university literary journal, the Dos Passos Review.
| Much of my work addresses similar issues as those discussed in Rosewood Massacre, 1923. As poets, I feel we are given an opportunity to acknowledge not only the flaws in ourselves, but those present in society. By mining my own experiences with topics like racism I try to use poetry to bring understanding to myself and to the reader. |
