Memories of Juneteenth.

Georgetown, South Carolina

The Burnette Family,

Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church.

Three times I worshiped with Momma Mary,

Yat’s mother, the most humble person I’ve ever known

A wool spinner and weaver

Skilled in tambour work

Light complexion, nearly white

Long, straight salt-and-pepper hair

A wife, mother to seven sons and two daughters

According to Momma Mary, I was her Mat’s Baby Girl.

Momma Mary taught me to be Geechee Gurl proud.

Taught me our ways

The Low Country ways of healing by making beauty from pain,

The calm focus found by creating meticulous needlework.

Momma Mary taught me to play the tambourine

“Because drumming was once outlawed,” she informed me.

The cries of those kidnapped echo in the jingles

Sorrows carried in our hands and feet

Sweat absorbed by the land like a hard rain.

We sit in Mother Bethel AME Church to celebrate Juneteenth

Wearing white, sitting with the Church Mothers.

Shake, shake, shake

Our tambourines spoke before the preacher,

Before the piano got pounded,

Before the choir was slain in the Spirit, wearing their white robes.

Before the first chorus of “Wade In The Water” rose toward the rafters,

We played tambourines

While men grunted a chant, stomped the beat, and shook rattles.

The stomped beat imitated men rowing themselves to freedom,

Stomping off the chains of oppression in the precious name of Jesus

We rocked, swayed, and prayed for freedom.