Journeys

By Journey Writers, Inc.

This anthology is divided into several sections. "Home and Family" focuses on essays and stories about growing up and navigating all that life brings. "The Personal is Political" takes a look at how we affect and are affected by society, politics, and our communities. "The Journey Within" includes introspective pieces from several viewpoints. "Into the Night" considers a variety of complex issues that surround love and relationships. "Poetry, Songs and Haiku" takes the reader on a fascinating journey to many destinations. "We Be Published: Journey Writers In Print" shares the publishing journeys of members in this non-profit writing group.
The idea for this anthology, grown from the founders' vision, came to fruition during the COVID-19 pandemic when we, like many other organizations, moved our meetings to Zoom. We wanted to spotlight a variety of pieces that were workshopped during our regular meetings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350903898

Book preview

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The Journey Writers

Literary Anthology

Copyright 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording without proper written permission of the copyright owner. For information about permission to reproduce sections from this book for any purpose contact: [e-mail]. Please put ‘Permissions’ in the subject line.

This anthology was generously supported by The William Casper Graustein Memorial Fund and an anonymous donor-advised fund administered by the Hartford Foundation for Public Giving.

ISBN: 979-8-35090-388-1 (print)

ISBN: 979-8-35090-389-8 (eBook)

Printed in the United States of America

Project Manager: Beth Gibbs

Anthology Committee: Denise T. Best, Carla Dean, Therelza Ellington

Journey Writers, Inc. https://journeywriters.org/

Hartford, Connecticut

For Our Members, Friends, and Supporters

Contents

Introduction

Home and Family

Marshmallow Toast by Denise T. Best

The Dowdell Family of Martha’s Vineyard by Denise T. Best

A Daughter’s Tribute by Denise T. Best

Uncle Bubby by Regina S. Dyton

Dear Ella by Regina S. Dyton

A Life is Precious by Liston N. Filyaw

Telephone Conversation by Liston N. Filyaw

Tornado by Earl W. Gardner

The Gathering by Earl W. Gardner

Warrior Women of the Third Sunday by Beth Gibbs

Poem: Warrior Women of the Third Sunday by Cheryl Curtis

The Enlightenment of Franklin Rutledge by Beth Gibbs

Sara’s Journal by Beth Gibbs

The Hardest Thing by Theresa Harris

And Your Name Is by Theresa Harris

The Personal is Political

Sandra Bland by Leslie A. Bivans

Can You Hear Da’ Message? by Jacqueline D. Davis

Children Without Childhood by Regina S. Dyton

The Devil Gets His Due by Beth Gibbs

Clapping Back at Corona #2020 by Beth Gibbs

Who Loves You? I do! by Theresa Harris

The Journey Within

Prisoner by Jacqueline D. Davis

All Over Again by Earl W. Gardner

Bitchcraft by Beth Gibbs

Enough by Beth Gibbs

The Purse by Barbara Stephens

My Walk by Larry Roeming

Into the Night: Love and Relationships

Reading Without Comprehension by Denise T. Best

A Dawg’s Life by Denise T. Best

Drenched by Leslie A. Bivans

50thby Barbara Stephens

Poetry, Songs, and Haiku

Those Who Have Gardeners by Denise T. Best

Haiku Trilogy by Denise T. Best

Each Time by Denise T. Best

Mother/Daughter Love by Denise T. Best

White Carnation by Denise T. Best

Without You by Regina S. Dyton

Man Speaks by Therelza Ellington

He Loves a Woman by Therelza Ellington

I Know He Loves Me by Therelza Ellington

Bamboo by Therelza Ellington

Methadone Woman by Therelza Ellington

Into the Night by Therelza Ellington

Wah Wrong Wid a Flex by Therelza Ellington

Done Gone by Therelza Ellington

Haiku Journal by Earl W. Gardner

Turning Lemons into Lemonade (The Blues) by Earl W. Gardner

Haiku Trilogy by Beth Gibbs

my hips by Beth Gibbs

We’ve Come a Long Way (Song) by Theresa Harris

Celebrate Diversity (Song) by Theresa Harris

God Bless Our Children (Song) by Theresa Harris

You Deserve to Be Loved (Song) by Theresa Harris

Broken by Frances McAlpine Sharp

Poem for a Lovely Life by Frances McAlpine Sharp

We Be Published: Journey Writers, Inc. in Print

Contributors

Introduction

Who we are.

Founded in 2013 by Carla Dean, Therelza Ellington, Liston N. Filyaw, and Frances McAlpine Sharp, Journey Writers, Inc. is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization. The mission is to provide a safe, open, and supportive environment for writers to share their work and receive constructive feedback and encouragement.

What we do.

In addition to our monthly workshops, Journey Writers, Inc. produces several presentations and readings throughout the year. Members have the opportunity to include their works as part of these productions. Topics and themes have included personal memoirs, poetry and songs, culture, race and ethnicity, spirituality, family, gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Two of our productions have become annual dramatic reading events: Family––It’s More than You Think and Queer Black History. Some of us write as well as read and perform our works publicly, and many of us have had our books, articles, essays, and other writings published in a variety of publications.

What folks are saying about Journey Writers, Inc.

Here’s a comment from Paul and Tina Bobbitt, two friends of Journey Writers, Inc.: We attended two of the performances sponsored by Journey Writers, Inc. and want to commend the work of that organization. We were astounded by the creativity of these everyday folks. Their hidden talents have been uncovered, not only in content but also in their manner of presentation. Many thanks for encouraging and supporting the writing and voicing that is on the heart and mind of friends and neighbors.

The idea for this anthology, grown from the founders’ vision, came to fruition during the COVID-19 pandemic when we, like many other organizations, moved our meetings to Zoom. We wanted to spotlight a variety of pieces that were workshopped during our regular meetings.

If you are interested in visiting us, please contact us at [e-mail].

You can find out more about us on our website,

https://journeywriters.org.

Moving forward, we expect our meetings to be a hybrid format to accommodate our members from out of state.

Proceeds from the sales of this anthology will be used to support our community programs.

We hope you enjoy reading about our Journeys!

Carla Dean, President

Journey Writers, Inc.

Hartford, Connecticut

Home and Family

Marshmallow Toast

by Denise T. Best

After about the third year, the residents of Center Sandwich, New Hampshire, came to expect an annual caravan of people of every hue. Representing a mix of Native American and African ancestry with two or three Anglos thrown into the blend, we increased the town’s population of about one hundred by roughly forty or sixty souls, depending on the year, for the next four days. For two decades of Memorial Day weekends, numerous cars and the occasional vans, loaded down with food supplies, luggage, tents, and door-to-door bodies, made a left onto Millbridge Road and took another at the flat-faced boulder on which Camp Hale was painted in red. The single-lane, paved road snaked through the pine-scented canopy of trees down to Squam Lake, a tributary of Lake Winnipesaukee. The Cato Family Reunion was an annual celebration of life, love, and nature for four generations of Catos and close family friends.

Chris Cato, my best friend’s youngest brother, had spent two weeks to a month at Camp Hale with hundreds of other boys from our Boston’s South End neighborhood. Climbing the ranks from Junior Counselor to Camp Director, Chris negotiated to rent out the entire camp for the Memorial Day weekend for $700 and sweat equity, which translated into giving the camp its first cleaning after the long, harsh New England winter. The bulk of us were in our twenties and thirties. The sisters swept and scrubbed the mess hall and cleaned the bathhouse and the infirmary while the guys attacked the rec hall and the boat house, which housed several canoes, life jackets, and preservers. The teens raked the beachfront and cleared the paths of fallen tree limbs and assorted branches, dutifully putting aside kindling needed to start the evening campfires. From the screen door of the dining hall, we could glimpse the guys setting out the dock, our altar to Helios, the Greek god of the sun. Although it was generally chilly up north that time of year, our spirits were always blessed with a day or two of seventy-to-eighty-degree weather, ten or more degrees warmer than Massachusetts, our home to the south.

Having collectively gotten the big chores taken care of, we each trouped off to clean our respective cabins or set up tents. There were two large cabins, one for the girls and the other for the boys, each housing ten or twelve bunkbeds. There were several counselor cabins for singles and couples. After cleaning up spiderwebs and the scat and other detritus left behind by the four-legged winter inhabitants, we made our beds, set up our space with boom boxes, paperbacks, journals, toiletries, and other creature comforts. Showered and clothed, the sisters grabbed flashlights, hoodies, and the requisite insect repellent and joined the aunties in the industrial-sized kitchen for our first round of cooking, baking, trash-talking, and laughter––plenty of medicinal laughter––and music, always music and dancing!

Grace said, we settled in for what is known as good eatin’, like Rosa’s annual pork roast dinner, quickly followed by stacking the huge dishwasher, scrubbing pots, and wiping down tables. Once those were accomplished, the teens were anxious to get away to their respective cabins and settle in for their own music and laughter and the relentless taunting of the opposite sex. The elders wandered off together to their rooms in one of the two actual houses, one other being the infirmary, that was luxuriously appointed with heat and a full bathroom.

Several years from having our own kids to bring to camp, we younger adults settled into the mess hall for a night of snacking, drinking, singing, and games. Drifting off in groups of twos, threes, and fours, we traveled the flashlight-lit grassy paths to the docks or to Leaders Point to the campfire where we passed the peace pipe, and Stephen helped us identify constellations in the star-saturated sky, all the while listening to the melancholy melody of the loons. The spirit of joy and the fulfillment of exhaling and reconnecting lasted until the sky donned crimson and violet hues with the rising of the sun over the placid waters of Squam Lake. Adding ourselves to the Dr. Seuss Who’s asleep count, the forty-plus sleeping holiday campers dreamed of more sun-drenched days and star-studded nights to come filled with hiking, boating, a scavenger hunt, a talent show, and the culminating night of camp songs with the long-awaited marshmallow toast.

After twenty years of Camp Hale weekends, a new administration decided that Chris’s good idea could be marketed to other folks for about $5000 per holiday weekend. Between the costs and our less-industrious offspring, progeny hard-pressed to take over the communal chores and who wanted nothing more than to saddle us with grandchildren, the tradition died a sorrowful death, but not before our beloved grandchildren entertained us with a good five years of violin and cello concerts, skits, and songs. I can still hear their squeals of pleasure at learning to swim and canoe and their pure delight and awe as the Sneetches’ fabled marshmallow toast became a reality.

The Dowdell Family of Martha’s Vineyard

by Denise T. Best

In July 1994, my line sisters and I, 33 In Unity of the Iota Chapter of Delta Sigma Theta, Inc. in Boston, celebrated our twentieth anniversary in Oak Bluffs on Martha’s Vineyard. We were scattered around Oak Bluffs, the enclave of prominent African Americans going back to circa 1903. I felt so lucky and proud to be staying in the summer cottage of the Honorable Royal Bolling Sr., who in 1961 was elected to the Massachusetts House of Representatives, served six two-year terms, and in 1965, sponsored the state’s Racial Imbalance Act, which led to the desegregation of Boston’s public schools.

I parked in front of 6 Narragansett Avenue and immediately said good morning to the distinguished-looking family of beautiful women sitting on the porch of an exquisitely landscaped cottage named Jatomi directly across the street. I could not have known that a friendship of twenty-five years was blossoming when one of them remarked, I see you’re from Connecticut.

I was still thinking back then, No, I’m from Boston, but I said respectfully, Yes, ma’am, I am.

Do you know where Hartford is?

Yes, I live in Hartford.

Do you know Upper Albany?

I chuckled incredulously. Yes, I live in Upper Albany!

Do you know where Deerfield Avenue is?

Mouth open, head slowly shaking from side to side, they probably expected a negative answer. Yes, I live on Deerfield Avenue!

The matriarch of the family, Ozella Dowdell, replied, We were the first Black family to own a home on Deerfield Avenue.

Later, they shared how the neighbor with the welcome basket rang the bell, then turned and left in a huff after begrudgingly accepting the fact that the beautiful Black woman who had answered the door was indeed the lady of the house. Said neighbor took her basket of goodies with her and soon after, the neighbors rallied together and asked the bank to rescind their mortgage.

Mr. Moses Fox, magnate of G. Fox, which at the time was the nation’s largest privately owned department store, employed Ozella’s husband Luther Dowdell as his chauffeur and intervened on the family’s behalf. They continued to live at 28 Deerfield Avenue until they decided to move in 1971. Once again, they were trendsetters, moving into the recently built senior citizen facility, Immanuel House, on Woodland Street in Hartford. I told them that after years of white flight from and disinvestment in the Upper Albany neighborhood, the Connecticut Housing Investment Fund dubbed my husband and me pioneers in their publication when we bought our home on Deerfield Avenue in 1981.

For the next twenty-two years, I summered in the Bolling cottage, Abundance, one house away from Town Beach, aka Inkwell, and across the street from the cottage the Dowdell family had purchased in 1956. I spent many memorable hours with the sisters enjoying a cold beverage; sharing news of the island, world politics, the comings and goings of the Obamas; and sometimes simply sitting in companionable silence, catching the breeze while gazing out at the sea to the horizon from their pleasant, wraparound porch.

Their porch was their queendom, and food for thought was served free of charge. The sisters dished out a magical blend of intellect, wisdom, and straightforward mother wit made to order. My friend Regina Dyton recalled, Millie and her sisters were the first to welcome me to the Vineyard. As I embarked on my first walk to Circuit Ave., I heard a familiar tone of admonishment: ‘Girl, you need a hat!’ It was the voice of every Black grandmother telling me what I needed to do. On generic autopilot, I snapped my neck toward the voice and heard myself say, ‘Yes, ma’am.’ I went downtown, bought a hat, and have worn one in the sun ever since. All day, every day, a never-ending parade of eclectic, culturally diverse people stopped by and paid homage to the Dowdell women formerly of Hartford, Connecticut. Their cottage is prominent in many island calendars just as they themselves are prominently featured in several books and other various historical accounts of life on the Island, the remarkable women lovingly known as the sisters."

During my annual and numerous porch visits, I learned, among other things, about the plunder and pillage of the Vineyard, formerly known as Noepe, as named by the Wampanoag Native Americans. When the English invaded the twenty-six-mile-long island, they held little regard for the