Smudges

1864

Not all southern people were wealthy plantation owners but that's the one's we always read about and hear about. No, some of us were small farmers with little to our names and even though we were poor we still had one thing that made us superior, the color of our skin. It made us acceptable no matter how ignorant or poor.
I was raised 2 miles away from Magnolia plantation, what a marvelous place. I use to love walking over to it with my mama as a small girl. As I became of age, I started working there. I couldn't find my place, I had no place. I was not wealthy or accepted by the higher society, but I was too high to associate with the slaves. I was truly alone as I spent my days.
I found my place, or so I thought for only a brief moment in time, living in that moment it felt as if it may never end. With all things in life a choice was to be made, a choice I failed in making. Now looking back it was only a swift memory that haunts me. What I found was something that was not to ever be, the memory reminds me of the smell of daisies. I am going to tell the forbidden story of an untouched subject in the south, the record of this story were scattered and details lost along the years but inside the heart the story doesn't end. Even when I learned there was no gray line between black and white and no such thing as only one love.
SMUDGES