Mum Mary When I was just a young girl back then I had a friend. She lived in a tiny tin house down the street from us. I could see her tall lanky body moving about in her yard. We lived next door to the country store, and she was across the street. My mother worked at the sewing room in another town so we were left at home with my crippled father. Dad was a stern man that was very concerned about me being a lady. In those days black folk and white folk did not mix very well, but in spite of the caution I loved Mum Mary. She would tell me of my pretty white skin, and my pretty curly hair. We would sit on a little wooden bench in front of her tiny tin house. I don’t think I ever went inside, but I could imagine her living situation. I thought she had a bed and a stove in there and maybe a table. She
kept the yard so clean and neat with not one sprig of grass, or not a weed in sight. We
would sit and talk for hours, and the time would speed away. I can’t remember ever
being condemned for loving Mum Mary my good friend. I can see her in my mind even now as I
think back on her neat yard, and tiny tin house, and Mum Mary with the sweet pleasant
smile on her face. Oh what a blessing to have a friend. ŠLena
Ayer Kittrell
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