by Balil Pugh
You think you know
But you know nothing!
I believe, that is what she says to me
The woman in this painting
Her cold, icy stare
that pierces the encasing of my understanding
Her eyes are heavy
They hold generations of pain
The spirit of my ancestors lies within her skin
Bones that ache from years of hard-work
I think about the stories my grandmother once told me
Of her grandmother, a slave
The lessons she’d learned
Like knitting
Here she sits, knitting a quilt for me
Each square of fabric, a connection to the past
A new beginning starts from here
With me
She never finished that quilt, or finished the parable of my ancestor
I return my glance to the woman in the painting again
You think you know but
You know nothing
She whispers with a sly smirk
THE VIRGINIA NORMAL 