Free
Phillis
Enslaved here by Rev. Jonathan Parsons
Baptized 1740
—Witness Stones Inscription
My brother’s dead
Though I am sad
My soul is singing
He made me smile
He made me laugh
He made this life of servitude
Less the noose
Less the abuse
Less the pain
My brother’s dead
I am alone
Our mother gone
Or ... left behind
She might have known
The perfect tincture
She might have made a salve
And rubbed it on his chest
She might have held him
To her breast
And made it all okay
My brother’s dead
He died last night
So young at ten
To stand upon the auction block
To only know the slaver’s hand
To never walk the freedom path
My brother’s dead
Our mother sat us down one night
Told us we were sold
It would crush her soul
To know her child has left this world
Or maybe she, like me
Would know that he is, at last
Free
Notes:
This poem is from “The Witness Stones Project” portfolio that appeared in the November 2021 issue. The authors write about the series and the collaborative process here.
Source: Poetry (November 2021)