Around the World

Felicite Lehel ‘26

I was inspired by old travel magazines, and images of the like, to create some sort of collage. Although at the beginning I had little concept of what I was going to do, I enjoyed the experience of piecing together the smaller images into one larger form. By the end, I was left with a peculiar looking figure.

Nancy Lou

I was born to war,

the war between the Allies and the Axis powers,

the war of black and white,

the battle of my mother's belly.

When I was born, my legs were bent like limbs of thick oaks, 

but the doctors tore me away from my mother.

And, we wailed for one another,

for the bond that will never be broken.

My legs grew straight, confined by metal braces.

As I grew like climbing hydrangea.

Mother’s belly swelled,

and Martha was born.

Mother's almost black ringlets framed both our faces. 

We shared our father’s wide nose.

As I grew older, my skin darkened from days under a sweltering Southern sun,

lemon juice in my hair and baby oil on my teenage body.

All the while, Mother’s and Martha’s skin stayed the perfect pale of catfish belly. 

I graduated early and went to work at First National Bank,

where black stockings covered long, tan legs,

and a tight girdle squeezed my short torso.

There, I worked with Bonnie.

In our 53’ Chevy, we drove to the local diner,

and I was never one to gossip, but Bonnie always knew what was up.

She told me about Bobby, 

with his gazing brown eyes and thick, black hair.

His nose and jaw seemed chiseled by Michelangelo.

We were a perfect fit,

maybe too perfect.

I got pregnant within a month.

My stomach grew and grew,

and when I could not hide it anymore,

he asked me to marry him,  

not with a diamond ring and gold band,

but out of fear for the circle of stigma that would  surround us if we did not. 

Of course, I said yes,

but being a young, unmarried mother

was hell on Earth in the deep South. 

We moved to Auburn. 

There, Norman was born.

He looked just like my father, with emerald eyes and striking blonde hair.

Then came Andrew,

spitfire with the same golden locks. 

The years in Auburn passed, and I grew homesick.

I longed for the raucous Mardi Gras parades, 

the shimmering beads, 

the melted moon pies, getting sticky chocolate on your fingers,

the towering oaks arching Springhill Avenue,

the fluttering azalea petals carried by sweet Southern winds,

the freshly caught shrimp, deep-fried in crispy po’boys. 

So, we moved back,

and under the southern sun came Allen.

He wasn't like my other boys.

He had my deep coffee eyes. 

My boys grew older,

their hair morphing from shining blonde to dark brunette,

They shot up like peanut plants in March.

In April, came Edith,

named after Bobby’s mother.

She was my only girl, 

my last baby.

I held that girl in my arms like my mother

held me with that unbreakable bond,

The same bond that held us when my husband cheats on me with my best friend, 

When he moves to Germany with her,

When mother is killed in an automobile accident.

The bond has never faltered.

It has been passed down from my mother to me,

from me to my daughter,

from her to my granddaughter.

My favorite. 

Tess Barry ‘27

This poem is a persona poem from the perspective of my Grandmother, Nancy Lou. I have been very fortunate to grow up with my grandmother in my life, and she even lives with me today. I’ve always loved listening to her stories, and I admire her resolve, so I decided to combine many of her life stories into a poem for her.