I heard the stories

Throughout my childhood

Whenever I asked about the pensive portrait

Hanging on grandmother’s wall

A cacophony of conflicting legends and lies

Influenced by the character of the griot

 

Aunt Iccie was a missionary

Or a spinster teacher

Who died in Africa

Eaten by wild lions

Or heathen cannibals

So there was no body to bury

No sacred ceremony

No mourning

No homegoing

 

I found the official

documents

Filling in the blanks

Bridging the chasms

Of mystery and myth

 

I found Aunt Iccie who

taught at a mission school

In Liberia

Where she died in childbirth

her husband by her side

No one could afford the cost

of shipping a body home

to Mississippi

So they buried her there

Celebrating her life

according to local custom

 

I imagine Aunt Iccie resting in Africa

welcomed by the ancestors

at peace

at home