A Worn Path

“Her skin had a pattern all its own of numberless branching wrinkles and as though a whole little tree stood in the middle of her forehead, but a golden color ran underneath, and the two knobs of her cheeks were illumined by a yellow burning under the dark. Under the red rag her hair came down on her neck in the frailest of ringlets, still black, and with an odor like copper.”

The narrator’s description of Phoenix is rich with suggestion. Though her skin is heavily wrinkled, these wrinkles take on the likeness of a tree, which often symbolizes life and vitality. Notably, her hair has not turned gray in her advanced age. The “yellow burning” in her cheeks suggests passion and strength. These traits manifest in her various encounters and challenges.

“Out of my way, all you foxes, owls, beetles, jack rabbits, coons and wild animals! […] Keep out from under these feet, little bob-whites […] Keep the big wild hogs out of my path. Don’t let none of those come running my direction. I got a long way.”

The first words out of Phoenix’s mouth establish a key facet of her personality: her determination to fulfill her goal and refusal to be stopped. It also showcases her distinct voice and intimate awareness of her surroundings.

“‘Seem like there is chains about my feet, time I get this far,’ she said, in the voice of argument old people keep to use with themselves. ‘Something always take a hold of me on this hill—pleads I should stay.’”

The way Phoenix talks to herself enhances her authentic characterization and further illuminates her personality. This moment also shows some of the internal resistance she must push past. It prompts reflection on what this “Something” could be besides physical fatigue.

“She did not dare to close her eyes, and when a little boy brought her a plate with a slice of marble-cake on it she spoke to him. ‘That would be acceptable,’ she said. But when she went to take it there was just her own hand in the air.”

Phoenix cannot allow herself to rest for long because doing so will jeopardize her journey. The vision of the boy with marble cake both foreshadows her own grandson and represents a temptation to take an easier path than the one she is on. When the boy and cake vanish, she realizes she is fully alone and must continue on her way.

“Big dead trees, like black men with one arm, were standing in the purple stalks of the withered cotton field. There sat a buzzard. ‘Who you watching?’”

Describing the trees in this way prompts reflection on whether they are a symbolic stand-in for the lynchings and violence perpetrated against African Americans (particularly men) in Mississippi and throughout the Deep South at the time of the story. Buzzards—identical to vultures in North America—are scavengers who feed on carrion and thus symbolize death and decay. Phoenix’s blunt question to the buzzard shows that she will not entertain morbid reflection.

“Her fingers slid down and along the ground under the piece of money with the grace and care they would have in lifting an egg from under a setting hen. Then she slowly straightened up; she stood erect, and the nickel was in her apron pocket. A bird flew by. Her lips moved. ‘God watching me the whole time. I come to stealing.’”

The careful grace with which Phoenix steals the nickel and the comparison to a hen’s egg suggest she is not stealing for theft’s sake. Eggs are a source of food, and Phoenix will use the money to purchase a paper windmill for her grandson, thus feeding his imagination.

“In the paved city it was Christmas time. There were red and green electric lights strung and crisscrossed everywhere, and all turned on in the daytime. Old Phoenix would have been lost if she had not distrusted her eyesight and depended on her feet to know where to take her.”

Phoenix has almost reached her destination, and the sight of the town at Christmastime is a vivid, refreshing change of scenery compared to the wild and difficult woods. Only through muscle memory is Phoenix able to find her way. The true “sight” she needs comes not from her eyes but the memory held in her body.

“She entered a door, and there she saw nailed up on the wall the document that had been stamped with the gold seal and framed in the gold frame, which matched the dream that was hung up in her head.”

The document is likely a doctor’s diploma. At this point, readers still do not know why Phoenix is at the doctor’s office and what “the dream” entails. The passage gains significance in retrospect: The dream is both the dream of her grandson’s survival and his future success. Even though Phoenix does not yet remember why she is there, the dream is “hung up in her head” as a fixture that sustains her.

“At last there came a flicker and then a flame of comprehension across her face, and she spoke.”

This passage represents the moment when Phoenix finally remembers the reason for her journey. This moment of recognition is like a revelation, and it breaks the dazed silence she has lapsed into since arriving at the doctor’s office.

“Then Phoenix was like an old woman begging a dignified forgiveness for waking up frightened in the night. ‘I never did go to school—I was too old at the Surrender,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘I’m an old woman without an education. It was my memory fail me. My little grandson, he is just the same, and I forgot it in the coming.’”

For the first time in the story, Phoenix appears truly vulnerable. Her tough exterior cracks, and she apologizes for her forgetfulness due to her age and lack of formal education. Her words, laced with pathos, reveal that she was alive at the end of the Civil War (the “Surrender”), suggesting that she may have been born into slavery. Nevertheless, she redirects her focus to her grandson.

“‘Throat never heals, does it?’ said the nurse, speaking in a loud, sure voice to Old Phoenix. By now she had a card with something written on it, a little list. ‘Yes. Swallowed lye. When was it?—January—two—three years ago—’”

The way the nurse speaks to Phoenix and references a card with notes on it reveals that the circumstances of this visit are not new. Readers finally know the central problem that motivates Phoenix and propels the action of the story.

“Phoenix spoke unasked now. ‘No, missy, he not dead, he just the same. Every little while his throat begin to close up again, and he not able to swallow. He not get his breath. He not able to help himself. So the time come around, and I go on another trip for the soothing-medicine.’”

Phoenix, now back in her right mind, recounts the details of her grandson’s situation. She describes his ailment as severe and chronic but manageable. If this story is read as an allegory for civil rights, then it conveys a sense of optimism. Both the grandson’s throat trouble and Phoenix’s trips are part of an ongoing routine, but there are solutions and hope for progress.

“My little grandson, he sit up there in the house all wrapped up, waiting by himself […]. We is the only two left in the world. He suffer and it don’t seem to put him back at all. He got a sweet look. He going to last. He wear a little patch-quilt and peep out, holding his mouth open like a little bird. I remembers so plain now. I not going to forget him again, no, the whole enduring time. I could tell him from all the others in creation.”

This poignant passage demonstrates Phoenix’s love for her grandson and their dependence on one another. Though poverty and a serious throat condition render her grandson extremely vulnerable, Phoenix insists he will endure. She expresses she could never truly forget him because his uniqueness shines so bright among all the other people in the world.