Cheri Boyd's Page

The Past

Wrinkled faces

each indentation telling a story

of a time past,

and whimsical dreams.

Indentations of tormented moments,

deep thoughts,

and life through squinted eyes.

The face once smooth

now holds wrinkles,

it can now cradle and contain

the tears that once flowed.

Happiness of birth and sorrow

from death,

driven aches of fear,

and the thrill…

I write about Frank Boyd, not just because he was my grandfather, but primarily because his family was never known by my father.  Frank died in 1960, I was four.  Old enough to remember that I had a grandpa.  Old enough to remember what he looked like.  Old enough to know that we had no relatives from his side of the family.

I write about Frank Boyd because he told that he was from Waycross, GA.  I found Frank Boyd in Waycross, GA because he told that he had sister Mary and…

What shame did I bring upon you the descendants of Peter and Parilee.

Tell me the turmoil that exist in your hearts that made you forget about me.

Surely tears came to my mother's eyes when she thought about me.

When my father gazed North,  I know he cared about me.

When my name was spoke, was there a hush, shhh don't speak about me.

What have I done that you've said nothing to your children about me.

A letter was written, it's contents never…

If my father was Peter, and mother was Parilee wouldn't someone remember me.  

If I had brothers and sisters named Lucy, Henrietta, Annie Lee, twins Mary and Martha, Jessie, Beatrice, Emanuel, Shadrach and Laura, wouldn't they want you to remember me.

If I came from a small place called Waycross, left home, you tell me you wouldn't remember me.  

Wouldn't you want to know about my son, Cecil, and his children.  Particularly the one writing this, Cheri, who won't let you…