Aunt Lela

By Clara Blair

The smell of bleach hung sharp on the air
And soiled suds foamed
Down to the gravel beneath the floor
In the tarpaper washhouse behind her home,
Where tubs and wringers were lined up in rows,
Ready for the neighbors' laundry.

In a dusty little town, a blip on the landscape
Of hardscrabble northwestern Oklahoma,
She had survived the Great Depression
And her husband's greater depression,
Which chose death by his own hand
Over a slow death by cancer.

The washhouse helped her raise four children
With the love of friends and family.
Even the loss of her eldest son,
Mangled by the spikes of a road machine
At a summer job before college,
Could not destroy her spirit.

Battling her pain with hard work,
She earned a college degree
And saw her girl and two boys to adulthood -
A teacher, a pediatrician, a veterinarian.
Family, friends, travel and work
Added joy to her still-busy old age.

When eight strong men carried Lela's bier
From the white church at the center of town,
We grieved at our loss but celebrated
How she spent her life, hurt but undefeated,
Finding meaning and delight for herself and others
In her little piece of time.

© 2003 Clara Blair