Addie, Sitting by Herself

I loved my mama—the way she could laugh
after a scorching day in the fields,
and the way she hummed under her breath
when she was patting out the biscuit dough.

I know I was a worry
not finding a man to marry—
but I was not the death of her.
It was all those babies, and so many
couldn't make it past the first month.

I can see their little crosses on the hill,
and some days I walk up the dry grass rise
to the oak tree and sit by hers—
just me, my Mama, and brothers and sisters.
Even the one that was still-born, and did her in,

the one my father could not name.