by Thomas Kneeland
Beyond the threshold of this door whispers the sea, and this slave house answers through the carvings imprinted in the stone foundation, where crashing sea foam reaches its peak. Last night, I came to acknowledge that we may die as slaves, and, like our ancestors, will join the ethereal ranks of our ancestral spirit. Tonight, I raise my chains in farewell and cast my eyes on the Atlantic waters.
We death march to the demon ship; I pray that God troubles the waters and takes us to Paradise before we are crushed by the blackened sea. Every step away from the slave house, takes another sliver of spirit from me, just as the ocean’s ebb and flow strips away concrete into a carving that can only be understood by the sons and daughters of slaves. On that day of understanding, our generations will stand on liberation’s peak
but for now, all we can do is remain silent and peek through the cracks between jambs caused by frigid waters, reminding ourselves that our children will not be slaves; they will be masters of the land, air, and sea; they will be skillful architects and sculptors who carve out the hearts of stone and usher in a new spirit.
I look at my son in chains next to his mother and he hasn’t lost his spirit, but I am on the brink of losing my sanity; I’m piqued by the slave master’s bloody and merciless carvings on my brother’s back and legs; the only healer is holy water. I pray that the god of my mother and father engulfs us beneath the abyss of sea to end this cursed life of pain and sacrifice as the devil’s slaves.
It is better to be drowned as a saint than to be sold into slavery; they’ll beat, whip, and rape us until there is only a faint wisp of spirit; they’ll beat, whip, rape and bag us first before throwing us back to sea; they’ll beat, whip, and curse us for seeking God on the mountain’s peak; they’ll beat, whip, and kill us, but it will not stop us from reaching the water; our return is cemented on the stone in Dakar where the ocean meets the carving.
At our land’s edge, there is a divine carving that tells a story about twelve million slaves— slaves whose skin and strength are forged by water, slaves whose prayers are delivered by the Spirit, slaves whose visions and dreams are cast at the peak of moonrise over a somber sea.
There is a sunrise at the edge of sea, carving mountain peaks over the eastern coast of a new land where slaves will find that a spirit is ready to lead them to new territory away from the water.
Thomas Kneeland is an award-winning American poet, author, educator, speaker, humanitarian, and visual artist. He is the author ofWe Be Walkin’ Blackly in the Deep (Marian University), and one of ten 2022 Frontier Poetry Global Poetry Prize finalists for the continent of Africa. His poetry is widely published in the United States in journals and archives such as Up the Staircase Quarterly, South Florida Poetry Journal, INverse Poetry Archives, Clepsydra Literary & Art Magazine, Rigorous Magazine, and High Shelf Press.
Kneeland holds a B.A. in Creative Writing from DePauw University, an M.A. in Ministry — with a specialization in Worship Art — from Wesley Seminary at Indiana Wesleyan University, and is a thesis candidate in Butler University’s MFA Program in Creative Writing, where he studies poetry.
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