Written in Chalk
By Mahleija Tanner, 18, Spain
With trembling hands,
She grasps the chalk,
So fragile and breakable, a wisp of white
In the dark, dank basement.
She cowers at the feet of her father
Who barks snapping, slurred commands,
And she begins to draw a jagged circle,
The molding floor piercing her palms with splinters.
As her father gulps down a can of bear,
Her heart pulses in her throat,
Racing to the rhythm of her baby brother’s sobs.
Finished, they solemnly stand in their chalk-drawn prison.
Momentary co-conspirators in a worn and weary war,
Until her father thrusts two wooden planks in their hands.
They turn.
“Winner gets dinner tonight.”
Ready
Set
Fight.
Now, her tender hand rests on mine
And she gently guides the chalk,
Its powdery, pink residue caking my fingertips
As the summer breeze whistles in the trees.
I snuggle in her lap, my hand pressed to the warm sidewalk
As she murmurs words of encouragement
And I fumble with our drawing.
As the sweet smell of magnolias
Complements the melody of the birds,
I feel her heart in her chest – pressed up against my back —
Thumping to the rhythm of my breath.
Finished, we victoriously stand,
My head tilted, eyes squinting at the creation before us.
She kneels beside me, a laugh at her lips.
“What’s it say, Grandma?”
I
Heart
You
My grandmother was raised in a large family with an extremely abusive father who was often drunk. He would have his children draw a circle on the floor, hand them planks of wood, and make them fight until one of them either stepped outside of the chalk circle or was too beaten to continue. Many years later, I was born. Whenever I visited my grandmother, she would take me outside, sit with me, and hand me chalk. With her minimal education and my five-year-old spelling skills, we often refrained from writing complicated sentences on her driveway. So, she taught me the simplest but most important sentence I could ever write: I heart you.
I wrote this poem to honor my grandmother’s passing and to share a small part of her story. The world is full of brokenness, but it is from that hurt that we are offered the chance to love or to hate. It is my sincere hope that we, as the youth of the world, can face our pain, our fears, and our pasts, and choose love.
