In memory of Callie Barr, known in historical record
as caretaker of William Faulkner’s family
You may find her behind
Rowan Oak, a shadow
of fortress where then now
you find no real entry place.
Where then now a tree grows
near that door, purple flower
heads peeking through into
the world she left behind.
Here then now she found a home
as shadow, covering
it all with her big black
small frame of big womanness
now then where the cabin creaks.
You may find somewhere
her portrait stuck to a wall
where then now she lingers,
shadows peeking over her face
to find the proclaimed Mammy
joy. They leave themselves to
tell her story, to guess her
age unknown and rounded out.
Here then now she lies absent,
erased by the very word—
entry marked into the bottom
of history where then now
we find no shadow of life
as told by her. History carries
her tale through his and her mouth.
Say: I heard it like this
now then where she lingers
on tongues that spit out the bad
taste to tell a good story.
Say: Here lies Mammy, born
in bondage, died in devotion
and love. Where then now
they opened earth’s
mouth ready to receive her
body. Stretched that back
over her. Placed the tombstone
as muzzle that says: “Mammy.
Her white children bless her,”
where then now her black children
listened and watched that doing,
going back into their shadows
after she lay buried in the maid’s
uniform as they say she requested.
Then now there was it
emblem of her service or her life?
Where then now is Callie?