slavery poems, cont, someday

someday

put my tears in a bottle
they will shine like brilliants
wear it after I'm gone
mother God
your child, I am weeping
there is no comfort here
but you will wear it for me
and tell
the ones who follow
another generation
maybe they got better lives
not me
it never get better
for me
but they be lighter
they be stronger
maybe somebody else listen
maybe times change
it got to
get better

10/17/98

slavery poems continuing, what I wear now

what I wear now

I wore amber and silver
red and gold cloths
my mother made
I was a beautiful bride
stood up tall
 and my breasts were high
and there was love in my eyes
for you
and all the people
in my village
were happy for us
now it is homespun
coarse and rough
I wove it on the loom
in the weaving house behind
it scratches
and there are no beads
on my neck
no rings
my braids are plain
and I wash
but not in the river
these fish do not have names
the name they call me
is not my name
not the name he spoke in love
when we joined together
and the hands in the night
are not the hands of love
but I live
and sometimes
I stand up all the way
remembering
my life before
I am still me
though they do not know
who I am
and my good secrets
carry me
in this day
in this place
where I live now

slavery poems cont

what he do

them stripes are itching
mama says don't scratch
got to keep them clean
if I want to stay alive
I don't want to stay alive
after what he did to me
and I know
he gonna do it some more
to me
like all us here
in the cabins
say he own me
say don't fight him
hurt me too
down there
my skin jump and it's
burning so hard
when she wash me
she touch me
oh so gentle
but my feet shake
my hands shake
and I just cry
cause it aint over
till I get free
maybe I try again
if there aint no baby

slavery poems cont

crying

I hear weeping
in the back of the quarters
washing down the blood
he tried to run
didn't get free
no didn't get free
didn't come back
like he was
washing down the blood
where the dogs lie down

slavery poems 3, talking at night

talking at night

scribbling in red in
my books
all night long
words come
not from my life
they are talking
through me
the slaves had to talk
and I guess that
I was the one
listening and waiting
to write it down
and sew it together
and say it out
I'm grateful
they chose me
white girl yeah
but I'm listening
and writing down
and learning.
"Thank you all for coming."
I'm sorry I couldn't help
I wasn't born yet
but here I am now.
Please don't stop talking to me.
I don't want to miss out on this,
but I would like to sleep now.
Thank you.
It makes my stuff
not seem so bad.
It makes me sad
my daughter was gone away
and I let her be taken,
my gift from God.
But I'm here now
and she's alive
and I can get better.




dry

they cut off part to his
 leg
for running
and they cut off part of me
too
inside
when they did
cant feel any feelings
anymore
better that way
dont you think
aint enough tears anyway
to cry for
what they did to us here
better to just go on
and work
hollow and dry
juice of life
squeezed and gone
I aint never gonna see
that home
no more
so I stay dry
just a dry leaf
blow on the wind
that's me
I go to work
I go to sleep
no hot
no wet
all dry now
all dry now
dried up
no time left to cry
no time left to dream
not just leaf though
I a seed
big hard shell
still good inside
could grow
maybe
no water here
this place
seed stay in there
sleep

for

slavery poems series 2

white girl

how dare I
white girl
make a quilt
about slavery?
maybe thats why I can
because for some
it still hurts
too much
10/14/98

underwater

there are no graves for us
we died in the middle passage
shitting our guts out
vomiting
it hurt
until peace and rest came
at last
and they threw us overboard
missing and gone
our families grieved for us
not knowing
if they grieved for
our deaths
our lives

10/14/98

white blood

I can see the faces
of the men who
owned us
in our children
their color
changing
who we are
the stories of our ancestors
that gave us courage
are lost
stained with another race
we become
someone new
a new people



the midwife

I show you plants
deep in the woods
make you heal
make you miscarry
I show you how to stitch
how to catch the baby
I help them die
I help some to live
bring on the flow
bring out the child
bring down the fever
this a deep wisdom
you got to stop
and hear good
what the people say
the right plant heal
make stronger
the wrong plant kill
got to do it right
got to stitch together
got to boil it up
keep it clean clean clean
before you cut the flesh
before you sew it up
I learn this from my mother
and the old woman
secret woodsie wisdom
help to save us
sometimes I got to watch them die
worse for me when
I cant help
my stuff aint big enough
for every time
every wound that comes from God
I cant heal
and some wounds help
by talking
and some by sitting by
and some
I cant do nothing at all
those kind hurts me worst
I thank God
He made me this
and for the children
come out in my hands
grow up fine and strong
and beautiful
I put blessings on them
all of them
help them to grow
that's the best part

the slavery poems : channeling the pain of the past

  Greetings, friends. I want to share these poems which I wrote as a series back in 1998. I felt as though I was listening to spirits tell their stories. I hope very sincerely they will not offend anyone in the verbal dialect style. I wrote down what I heard in my spirit and heart. The language used was the way I heard the voices speaking of their suffering. It's not meant to be white girl looking down on the ignorant English mistakes. I felt if I wrote it in modern standard English it would lose something. Please talk to me if you have a problem with the style.I worried so much about that problem that I have not published these before. Now I want to give you these.

part 1:

listening to other voices
men and women of the past
captive
held against their will
held and abused
yet still they prayed
and gave birth
to our new peoples
of the americas
my head aches
yet I will let them
speak through me
It will not break me apart
to let them come
and whisper weep and shout
their stories
speak through me


slavery quilt

another quilt is scratching
at the back of my brain
about slavery
I can hear them calling
"speak
of our tears our blood
raped by the plantation owner
no hope of days of peace
until I grow too big
with his child
and he owns me
if only I was ugly
they say the child will be light
and then She
will hate me"

will it hurt me to make it?
will it hurt them to see it?
will it hurt my friends to help me
make it?
or is it a quilt
for healing
go into the dark
speak out
give us a voice
remember us
remember us