“On the Way to Grandma’s Funeral” and “What the Confederate Flag Means to Me,” by Glenis Redmond

On the Way to Grandma’s Funeral
The woods are dangerous.— Little Red Riding Hood
You set a South Carolina record, for footprints. 109 years is a long time for anyone to walk down a road. My memory of you is as soft as the calico housedresses that you wore. The day you left, a quiet in us got up and went too. We felt the terror rip through us just like those large X’d flags waved their heated tongues on the way to Waterloo to bury you. They said nothing. They said everything. How you meted your days in Upstate heat. Coaxed flowers like your head, unbowed and unbossed. Your red Canna Lilies flaming like your spirit, the tallest of tall; our limousine, a submarine, sailed along holding your only living child: mama and her five. We did not talk of the four flags that we floated by, but we counted them all. I don’t even know how the talk started, of our top three desserts. Willie says: 1) sweet potato pie, 2) sweet potato pie, 3) that would be more sweet potato pie. We rode on this laughter that you would have loved, joined in with Hush yo mouth chile. You’d be proud of how we turned our heads, away from hate: fixed our minds on sweet thangs that stirred you 39,872 mornings to lift from your bed, to rise. From What My Hand Say (Press 53 2017), first published in Nazim Hikmet Poetry Chapbook and published here with the permission of Press 53. A review of What My Hand Say is in the North Carolina Literary Review, here. You can listen to the poet reading her work here.
Poet’s Note
I wrote “On the Way to Grandma’s Funeral,” obviously, after my grandma’s death. I kept thinking that even on the day of her death, hate does not take a holiday. I have always puzzled over how my grandma survived the South, the rural South. In the poem, there is a moment when I turn my head away from the landscape littered with Confederate Flags and back to my family, and I am enlivened by their ability to laugh while grieving. This is how I/we buffer ourselves. Then I knew this is how my grandmother withstood the South. This, too, is how we survive.
I suspect your Grandma did not hate, regardless of the hate she undoubtedly encountered during her lifetime. And I suspect that helped contribute to her long life. I am sure she was full of wisdom and perspective that is a shame to have lost, especially for her family. But she lived a blessed, long life, with family who loved her and mourned her–which is much more than many have… You are blessed to have had her in your life.
I suspect your Grandma did not hate, regardless of the hate she undoubtedly encountered during her lifetime. And I suspect that helped contribute to her long life. I am sure she was full of wisdom and perspective that is a shame to have lost, especially for her family. But she lived a blessed, long life, with family who loved her and mourned her–which is much more than many have… You are blessed to have had her in your life.
Thank you for sharing Ms. Redmond’s poems “On the Way to Grandma’s Funeral” and “What the Confederate Flag Means to Me” and for reminding us how poetry can simultaneously bring sobriety and joy while shedding light on the gravity and grace of the Black experience. I am a new and forever fan of Ms. Redmond and shall encourage my friends to purchase What My Hand Say. This is a perfect way to remind us that Black History is American History and should be celebrated every day.
Thank you for sharing Ms. Redmond’s poems “On the Way to Grandma’s Funeral” and “What the Confederate Flag Means to Me” and for reminding us how poetry can simultaneously bring sobriety and joy while shedding light on the gravity and grace of the Black experience. I am a new and forever fan of Ms. Redmond and shall encourage my friends to purchase What My Hand Say. This is a perfect way to remind us that Black History is American History and should be celebrated every day.