Inherit the Wind
by Audrey Bates-Glenn
I inherit the wind
I stand in the backyard and throw my
hands into the air, to catch the breeze
and let it blow through my hair
The wind gon' whip my silky locks
against my face and lift up my dress
to twirl around my legs.
I stand there for hours (it seems) head back and legs agape
I feel the Mighty Wind and even
hear Her whisper my name-
"Shandra! Shandra!"
But no silky locks whisp against my face my thick braids
lie flat against my neck my dress does not move
the thick cotton so stiff with starch.
"I told mama not to use that
'ole pressing grease in my hair
that's how come my hair don't blow in the wind!"
I run in the house past my mama
she is ironing more starch
into my other dress
Past the cornbread and beans in the kitchen
waiting in the pan for my two ole greedy brothers
to come home from school
Past my grandma who is sewing me
another stiff cotton dress this one for Sunday preaching
(that save our souls from burnin' in hell)
I reach my bed and plop on top
I bury my anger into my pillow
I am mad, mad mad I am crying
For I cannot inherit the wind!
I lay there for hours (it seems)
then I hear my mama's heavy steps
I know I should stop crying 'cause
mama can't stand no crybabies
but I can't help my cryin'
'cause my anger has overwhelmed me
"Shandra, what in the world wrong wich you, girl-
runnin' in the house, slamming that door
like you crazy?"
I know she hates me to "cry-talk" to her but I must
I cannot stop crying I must talk between my tears
because my anger has overwhelmed me
"I ca-an't inher-inher-inherit the wind
my hair don't blow in no breezes
'cause you put all that pre-pre-pressing grease in it
and my ole ugly dress don't swirl 'bout my legs!"
I tuck my legs beneath my dress and wait
for mama's whipping she always ask us what's wrong
but she always ready with that switch
seem like that switch comes outta nowhere
But I feel the weight of my mama sit down on my bed
then I feel my mama just looking at me
I dare to peek through my tears and notice both her hands are empty
"Shandra," she says with a calm I am not used to
(unless it's Sunday after preachin')
she has a look of understanding
probably from somewhere way back in her past
when she was a little girl wanting to inherit the wind
in them cotton fields at ole man Johnson's place
She finally speaks, "I wasn't listenin' so good,
but while you was out there throwin' them arms up in the air
didn't I hear the wind callin' your name?"
My nod is deep and apprehensive...
"You silly girl
you done already inherited the wind-
the wind know you by name!"
I jump up on my bed (I'm pushing my luck now-
mama don't ever allow such frollicking on these
good mattresses Ms. Brown give us)
I hug my mama neck so tight she caught tears
then I run outside to the backyard
and wait for the next breeze
When it come along I throw my hands
high in the air-this time I almost touch a cloud
and I feel the wind as She runs about
But this time I also see her
running through the clothes mama
done put on the line and I hear her again-
"Shandra! Shandra!"
And this time I'm happy 'cause
I know that I will always
inherit the wind
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