When Winter Come (6 page)

Dem don't know what it like to stand in the dark

night afta night wrapped in dat buffalo robe he sent

look up at the stars an wonda which ones

is lookin down on him an believe if something bad

happen to him out there dat I would feel it too

When he come home, I don't need him to say he love me

I don't need him to bring me gifts, I just wants him

to hold me close, make like he glad to see me

bend down t'my ear an whisper my name.

York's slave wife

I don't think York knowed

I could see hur too.

Da furst time was in da corna a his eye

while he look far off but stare at

da plate right in front a him.

He didn't say nothin' bout hur

but da way his lips turnt up at da ends

said plenny.

I ain't one t'sass. His growl help me

to know a slave woman's place

so I sits up all night wit both my hands

an ears open, waitin' t'catch hur name

on his lips.

Afta dat, no matta how much he talk

a grizzlies, buffalos, big fish,

mountains, or ochians

she become all I can see

all I wants t'know

It gets so crowded in our lil' place

I swears I can almost smell hur.

An by den I knows one a us will have t'go.

York's slave wife

First, I gets some fresh well wada

an puts it on t'boil

stirs up a tea brewed from

apricot vine, rattlesnake weed

an plenny a honey.

Den I sets him down 'tween my knees

an wit a wooden tooth comb

left t'me by my mamma's mamma

commences t'scratchin at his scalp

'til his shouldas look covad wit snow.

Den I fills up my wash tub wit

boilin' wada doctored wit peppermint root

an sets to scrubbin' him slow enough

fo' the heat t'open his doors.

When his body is clean I starts back t'work

on his head

bustin up a mean suds and usin'

my fingas to walk up an down his scalp

'til he let loose a low moan

an his eyes start t'roll 'round in his head.

Afta I rinses an twists alla forest out

I starts back in wit warm sunflower seed oil

only dis time ev'ry finga make its own lil' circle

while both m'hands make bigga ones

an they follows each otha from da stiff tree limbs

in da back a his neck, cross his crown

t'his soft spot while my thumbs dig in

slow an deep where da headaches come on.

I pours da extra oil inta my hans an rub

his neck an shouldas, down t'his ribs

an arms den like a turtle dance

I moves back up again.

I works slow an hard an afta a while

when I gets alla way t'his man sack

he open his eyes an be glad its me.

York's slave wife

A woman who has a good marriage is said to sleep in a good bed.

—African Proverb

After a tin a apricot vine tea

us use the buffalo skin

as the earth

an pile a bunch a quilts

into something like

a handmade sky

an makes us a real

lodge a sweat

If it based on how much

calling on God

come forth

in the dark

what married people do together

on bended knees

once dem work past dey anger

can be holy too.

It do more harm than good

to be enslaved an agree to love forever

when there be folks over us

with even more power than death

to do   us part.

Being another man's property

alls I can promise is

when we in the same quarters

no one will hold you closer

or with more tenderness than me.

If ever I have to choose between

another day a service an death

I will always choose livin'.

Even if Massa sell me down

the Mississippi tomorrow

or pair me up with another woman

to breed

I will only think on what we had

an chase away thoughts

a what we had not.

I aims to see you ev'ry Sunday an Christmas

but if ever I'm away more than two whole

seasons without sending back word,

untie the ribbons from that broom we jump

mourn for me but a little

then set your mind to figuring

on how you gone stay warm

when winter come.

York's slave wife

Somewhere out dere

he learnt t'touch me

like I'm a woman

an not just some woman.

Me.

In our marriage bed

he seem as intrested

in pleasing me as he be

in spillin' hisself.

I knew he come back

changed

when new words

fall out his mouf like

love an freedom

an manhood.

An dere come a look

in his eye

like he own all three

free an clear

an don't need no papers

t'prove it.

But it scare me

'cause I seent dat look

in many a black eye

b'fo white hammas

nailed it shut

o' left it frozen open

an swingin'

t'teach da rest

what anything dat smell

like courage cost.

I have no doubt

he give his life t'stay

wit me

so I don't tell 'im dat Massa

takin' me back

down south.

I just kiss him soft t'sleep

an stare at him long enough

t'call up his face

when I gets old an thankful

he still be breathing

somewhere

when winta come.

Ol' York

Slow by slow we all try on the white man's Jesus

needing something after throwing away Oludumare

an alla gods us come here wit', believing they left us first

but it clear to me dat a faith dat ask a man an his woman

to bow down an serve anotha man an his chil'ren

just 'cause he white, work betta fo' Massa than him slaves.

The old ones say that in Ile-Ife, in the beginning

us danced our faith. We didn't sit like rows a corn

to listen to a white man say how good the next life be.

'Legba, the trickster be ev'rywhere in this place

blocking alla roads, forcing us to call on the Orisas

in ones 'n twos or hide them up under angels 'n saints.

1 president's dream

plus 2 captains

almost 3 dozen men

one 15 year old Indian wife

her baby

a slave

plus

one 55 foot keelboat

2 pirogues

176 pounds of gun powder

420 pounds of sheet lead for bullets

not enough whiskey

minus gifts a 12 dozen pocket mirrors

4,600 sewing needles

10 pounds a sewing thread

130 plugs a tobacco

for 'bout 15 miles per day

for 3 years

an over 8,000 miles

equal 2 heros

double pay for all

320 acres a land for the men

1600 acres for the captains

an

nothin' for York.

William Clark

Give (a slave) a bad master and he aspires to a good
master; give him a good master, and he wishes to
become his own master.

—Frederick Douglass

I love my servants as much or more

than my friend Lewis

loved his fine Newfoundland, Seaman.

They have become so much a part of this family

it would grieve me mightily to lose any

or to have to sell them off.

I have had to give the lash to almost all my people

since my return,

as they had developed a most sour attitude

which had begun to affect their work.

Any interruption of work

or challenging of my authority

costs me time and money.

I have never cut off a limb or finger,

starved near to death, cuffed women in irons,

or beat any of my negroes stupid like other men.

I provide for their food, clothing, shelter, and medical care.

I treat them like my own children

until they are buried in the grave.

Others think me cruel for not granting manumission

to my boy, York, but what rational business man

would cut a hole in his own purse?

William Clark

I fear you will think I have become a severe master.

—William Clark

I don't know why he thought

he had earned his freedom.

I don't know why he thought

he was more than just a slave.

I don't know why he won't just quit

that woman of his.

I don't know why God made them as easy

to train as mules but twice as ungrateful.

I don't know why he insists

on making me prove who's boss.

If freedom mean never again

hearing one a Ol' York's stories,

never fussing with his Rose,

or getting to hold my wife an family

If it mean never laughing or hunting

with my brothers Juba an Scippio

or teasing Daphny an Nancy

than it not be something

I would barter for.

None a us be free

lessen alla us gets to come an go

as we please.

I never run 'cause alla my family

still belong to Capt. Clark.

Rose

I wish I could feel bad for dat boy, York,

but I can't. He had some hurt comin'.

I feel bad for his wife though,

no tellin' what she gone have t' do

t' survive down south.

Blisterin' sun an' cotton fields

ain't no place fo' a woman.

She was a lil' foolish fo' choosin' him,

but a good wife is what she was, too good

fo' his heavy hands an pigheaded ways.

After she gone, maybe he'll 'preciate

what he had. He did his share a knockin'

an' now he gettin' his on both ends.

Dat fool really only love the forest,

an up 'til he come back here still a slave,

was a pretty good wife to Massa Clark,

but don't tell Ol' York I said dat.

If dat boy fell off a cliff

his daddy say “look at my boy fly,”

an' get mad if you say diffrent.

Jonathan and Edmund Clark

I don't like him nor does any other person in this
country.

—Edmund Clark

The great expedition to the Pacific

secured our brother's career in politics

but made a monster of his boy York.

He and Lewis returned as national heroes

and York was so full of himself you'd have thought

he led the trek.

He strutted around here stirring up Negroes

and looking good, decent pillars of our society

right in the eye.

He threw everything away he'd been taught

and walked and talked as if seeing the ocean

had made him a white man.

Brother trounced him severely

and even had him thrown in the caleboos for his

impudence and drunkenness in St. Louis.

Somewhere out there he forgot his duties as a slave.

He took advantage of our brother's weakness

for him and set a terrible example for the others.

We'd as soon see him sold south to New Orleans

or run north rather than have him around to poison

all our good Negroes.

When I says good-bye to my wife

a voice tell me to squeeze

an hold her tight 'cause I ain't

never gone see or hold her again.

Don't know how I knowed

but since Ol' York took me into the woods