Carmella
April-July 2019, Gibson Chase-Pinkney

(I-1)
Carmella was sweet and pale as the petals, 
Of flowers that bloom under light of the moon 
She knew poetry and songs, and dances and riddles 
But felt cursed with the weight of her impending doom 

(I-2)
Because she had seen the way others were treated 
The plain-looking girls, and most of the boys 
They were challenged, and bullied, crushed and defeated 
Yet Carmella got nothing but affection and toys 

(II-1)
She knew that she had to evade this dark fate 
Of being treated like a most precious object 
She knew to escape, before it was too late 
The shape of her future was hers to protect 

(III-1)
So she got some black ink, and a few safety pins 
Before she could rethink, she stabbed through her skin 
After only an hour, though the pain made her cry  
She had etched in the outline of a crude butterfly 

(IIII-1)
When her folks saw her arm they were stunned and confused 
They thought  that they must be to blame 
But their pleas went unanswered and their help was refused 
For she sought to start living, without beauty and shame 

(V)
Baggy clothes and short hair, and a new way of talking 
Drop eyes from their unconscious search 
Less polite manners, and a swagger when walking 
All can be managed, if you rehearse 

(VI)
But she wondered sometimes; was she losing herself?
Was she forcing a change for a shot at fair terms? 
 But she wanted meaning, not comfort and wealth 
And she just had one life, so her ambition burned 

(VII)
Carmella got glimpses of what she surrendered  
And the lives that her female friends led 
Babies by 30, puffy and tender 
husbands that worked, to keep them overfed 

(I-3)
The passing of time  seemed unkind to her friends,  
They told her that something had changed 
Special treatment and patience had come to an end 
Strangers were acting distressingly strange 

(I-4)
But Carmella didn’t notice much of a change 
Turtle-necked, with a stately mustache 
Her dealings with peers old and new stayed the same 
If she needed assistance, she just had to ask 

(II-2)
As an elder, Carmella would often reflect  
On a life so impactful and strange 
She chose her own terms to accept or reject 
A grizzled old witch, not a porcelain dame 

(III-2)
Because most flowers bloom for just a few days 
While Roots, Stalks and Thorns make longer stays 
So hours spent learning, and building our minds 
Can provide for those folks chance or fate leave behind 

(IIII-2)
Carmella never mourned for the life she had led 
Or felt that her work was a waste 
She had worked to propel her whole people ahead 
And focused, much less, on having the prettiest face

Questions about this song? Email me at gibson@gibson.show