The Ballad of Alice Hortense
Some sweet morning
I can’t say when
The sun’s gonna melt my days away
And I’ll flow beside the knowing river
Till the rushing waters take me down.
One of these evenings
In the blue black hour
I’ll wane with the moon until I’m dust
But please don’t let me be forgotten
I’m just going back to where I’m from.
I was a good girl
That’s what they called me
Pretty in my way if I do tell
All I did was what momma told me
All I knew is what my momma said.
Tell the children the kind of girl I was
I could dance a step and sing my songs
I was brown and round and my hair was long
And I’ll still love ‘em even when I’m gone
I had a voice
A rare contralto
The deepest tones of the female range
Some thought it special, some thought it fine
But an ordinary colored girl
Didn’t have a chance.
I gave my love
To one man only
A hard working man, that was the prize
Side by side we made a family
No mean doing in the days I seen.
All my babies
Pretty as pansies
Black-eyed, washed, fed and loved
Singing and playing, learning and knowing
Praise god from whom the blessings flow.
So tell the children the kind of girl I was
I could dance a step and sing my songs
I was brown and round and my hair was long
And I’ll still love ‘em even when I’m gone
My children call me
Blessed mother
I loved their dreams more than my own
Bury my body next to their dear father
But let the rushing river take my soul.
Some may see me
Plain and common
Some may find me small and low
I’ve lived my life with quiet purpose
I’m satisfied whatever comes.
I can’t say
When I’ll have to leave you
I’m telling my story before he calls
I tried to love despite the troubles
I tried to live the best I know.
Just please don’t let me be forgotten
I could dance a step and sing my songs
I was brown and round and my hair was long
And I’ll still love you even when I’m gone
I’ll still love you when I’m gone
A Praise Poem to the Women
All praise to the women
who made me brown
my grand moms Daisy
and Elizabeth Grace
one black coffee
one café au lait
my caramel hue is a tribute to you.
To the women
who gave me form
small on top
not so small on the bottom
with hips and thighs
that take me where I need to go
those Hayes and Johnson sisters
who whispered mercy in my ear
and dropped dreams in my pocket.
To the women
who saw me coming
before I even got here
spirit women, vision women
who made a way for me
out of no way at all
women of unbowed head
and untied tongue.
A praise poem to the women
who made me sing
every Sunday in the choir
first row, second alto
Mama Alice, Auntie Mel
Aunties Vera and Sweet Lorraine
singing sisters of the highest order
may Jesus keep you near the cross!
To the women
who made me dance
Baby Alice and Sister Lin
listening to Shirley and the Shirelles
on the AM dial
cha cha steps in the kitchen
when we should have been doing the dishes
this is dedicated to the ones I love.
All praise to the women
who made me black
to the sudden soul sisters
from the class of ‘69
who washed their hair one day
and saw that it was good
Africa in our faces
worlds in our eyes
our overnight afros
still live in my mind.
To the women
who made me smart
who expected me
to grow up and be somebody
my great Aunt Roberta
the only one who went to college
and my teacher Miss Drew
who never did marry
but took me to the theater
and showed me how to dream.
Praise and power to the women
who made me strong
10-speeding with the boys
‘round Montrose street way
to my girlfriend Clara
who beat me in the 50-yard dash
and Miss Geraldine Woods
who went swimming at the YW
and wasn’t afraid to get her hair wet.
This is to the women
who made me evil
when I need to be evil
like my Aunt Betty
who put a woman in the hospital
for not minding her own business
but was a sweet as pie
as long as you didn’t cross her.
To the women
who made me crazy.
sure ‘nough stone crazy women
sure ‘nough my kin
on whom I blame
all my unexplainable behavior
and the women who made me sane
every Thursday in a circle
at four o’clock
for three years.
To the women
who made me love men
who knew all the delicious secrets
long before I did
and the women
who made me love women
who understood the mystery
and power of the feminine
long before I did.
This is dedicated to the women
who made me write
Charyn and Kathleen,
Lucille, Anne, and Michelle
who laid the wordy road
out before me
and bid me walk.
And to the women
who made me whole
marrow and bone
from all the trouble
and the wonder
some have spread
their angel wings and flown away
some are still waiting
for that trumpet call.
All praise to the women
who let me know
that I did not make myself.
Prior to taking a serious interest in poetry, Bernardine (Dine) Watson worked as a social policy writer for major foundations, nonprofits, and media organizations. She has written for The Washington Post, The Ford Foundation, Annie E. Casey Foundation and Stoneleigh Foundation. Dine’s poetry has been published in the Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Indian River Review, by Darkhouse Books, and by the Painted Bride Art Center. She was a member of 2015-16 class of The DC Commission on the Arts and Human-ities’ the Poet
in Progress Program, and the 2017 and 2018 classes of the Hurston Wright Foundation’s Summer Writers Week. Dine serves on DC’s Ward 4 Arts and Humanities Committee and on the selection committee for
the Takoma Park Third Thursday poetry reading series. She’s read her poetry in venues throughout the DC metropolitan area with More Than A Drum Percussion Ensemble. Dine is a current member of DC Women Writers of Color.
Images: Alice Hortense (l), Grandmother Elizabeth Grace (r), courtesy of the author.
Thank you Dine, for your lifelong commitment to art and beauty and the power of the written and spoken word.